


Satan In Suburbia

by suhdude



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C., Ghost BC
Genre: ;), Mafia AU, Other, Slow Burn, You Know I Had To Do It To Em, get ready to suffer, mafia papa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude
Summary: if i have to suffer with this story in my head y'all do too





	1. Beginnings

The whole car rattled on the unpaved driveway. Surrounded by trees and uncertainty you sat. Nothing could have prepared you for what Copia had done at the hall. Your suit still held blood, as did the suits of the two others in the car with you. One, the driver, was a close associate to one of the newly deceased crime bosses. You had been on good terms and the man had no hesitation in aiding your escape. You watched as he looked back at you through the rear facing mirror, a hauntingly calm look in his eyes, still in shock no doubt. 

To your right sat a boss who you had been on less than friendly terms with, though, evidently with whom you held some allies. His cold demeanor was nothing new. His mismatched eyes glared at the newly budding leaves of the trees as you drove further. It was unthinkable, to lose so much of your life in a matter of moments, then, to be stuck in a car with a rival, an Emeritus none the less. 

Your eyes turned to your own window, elbow resting on the closed metal ashtray in the door. The rumble of the engine had been keeping you grounded in light of the situation, but as your eyelids grew heavier, the rumbling rhythm seemed to egg them on in their closing. Sleep loomed dangerously close. 

In an effort to stay awake, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands. Hands feeling a bit warmer, you pulled them away just to see the blood that now sat on them. The pit in your stomach grew worse.

“Wait for me for ten minutes, if I’m not back, drive to the location with the red dot on the map in the glove compartment. We are at the purple dot now.” The driver spoke. The car had stopped. Both you and Papa nodded. Papa pulled back his stained suit jacket sleeve to check his watch, squinting a bit before returning to gazing out the window.   
In front of the car was a small log cabin built into a ledge. The stairs to it looked fresh, the barn like garage about a football field away did not. 

Papa checked his watch no less than five times, each time his eyes met the watch face, his own face pulled into a sneer. It was odd to see such a feared man so highly strung himself. The uncomfortable fiddling of his fingers did nothing but accelerate the fiddling of your own. Neither of you would be safe should this be a trap.

The driver returned, he tried to smile at you for a moment, his grin dropped almost immediately. Surely the death of the man he was close to weighed on him heavily. You sat up as he approached your door.

“So,” he said, “The three of us will stay here tonight. There are a few options, but, based on the fact I don’t know who you’re in bed with, it will be to my discretion who ends up where.” You looked to Papa, his eyes were trained on the driver. “I don’t know which options are still viable,” he continued “but, given you were both on good terms with my boss,   
I’ll make sure things go as smoothly as possible.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. The driver nodded back. 

The driver motioned to the cabin with his head. “Alright, let’s head in.” 

The cabin was larger than the outside let on. The structure seemed to be built into the stone. Near the front was the kitchen and a small sitting room. Three doors stood at the   
back wall, one to the side facing the garage. 

It was modestly decorated, warm but obviously not lived in. No personal items sat anywhere nor pictures on the walls. Smells of the forest seeped in.

“I don’t know how much to your liking they’ll be, but, the closest are stocked with just about every size we could fit in them. The bathroom is behind that door over there,” the driver said, motioning to the lone door, “towels are already in there, soap too if you want to wash up.” His eyes wandered over the two of you then down himself. “I’ll probably pop in there myself…” his arm turned as he inspected the crimson stain on his elbow, a chill visibly ran through him. You couldn’t hear the voice in his head that told him it was his own fault, but, it was the only thing he could hear. He cleared his throat. “Anyhow,” he continued “It’s getting late, pick a bedroom, get comfy, I’ll be out in a minute.” With that, he pulled a set of clothes off of the small horsehair couch and disappeared into the washroom. 

Autopilot took over and you went to the room next to the washroom. 

In it was a single bed, a wood nightstand, a dresser, an alarm clock, and a lamp. Due to its placement in the hillside, there were no windows. The lamp flickered on and you closed the door. Luckily, the night clothes and underwear were in the top drawer. Not caring if they were too large, you grabbed the largest set of pajamas you saw. Flannel with a green plaid. Given it was still early spring and the room you would spend the night in was literally set in stone, you would put good money on these being a good defense on the undoubtably cold night. 

Re-entering the main room, you noticed a few things. The first, how alone you felt. After hours in a car with two other people, though few words were exchanged, the room seemed enormous to be in without anyone else. The second was that there were things with dust that usually wouldn’t have it. The table, the stove, the handle on the fridge. Though the cabin was neat, it obviously hadn’t had residents nor visitors in a good while. The next was how one of the other bedroom doors was opened just a crack. The sun outside had begun to set and with the tree cover the cabin was dark, it was hard not to notice the sliver of light peering from the doorway.   
Before you had chance to do much else, the door to the bathroom opened. Out stepped the driver. He lazily fluffed his hair with a towel, the damp brown curls shining in the soft light. He had on a plain white undershirt and blue cotton sleep pants. Based on the carved muscles of his arms, he obviously had more physical demands in his job than you first thought. 

“Oh,” he said softly as his eyes fluttered open to meet yours, “There should be some warm water left if you want a shower.”

“Thanks.” You managed before slipping around him and into the steamy room. 

To your left stood a towel cupboard, the left, a toilet and sink, straight ahead was a bath shower combo and a small window with plastic blinds. After retrieving a small piece of soap and a fresh towel, you moved to the mirror. The reflection that stared back was blurred by steam, when you wiped the droplets away, you almost wished you hadn’t.   
Exhausted features and nearly dried blood stared back as well as a sizable gash on your forehead. Fingers shaking, you placed them on the wound. Hardly a sting, shock still dulling the sensation. 

Clothes lay crumpled on the floor as you started the waters flow, hand checking temperature before flipping the switch for the shower and stepping in. If anything was a comfort in the chaos around you, it was that you could at least control the shower. Washing didn’t take very long, still, you lingered in the stream for awhile after necessary, mind wandering. 

Remembering one more person needed the facilities, you wrapped up your time in the warm water. 

The main room was noticeably cooler, yet, warmer than you anticipated. The smell of pancakes mingled with the smell of the trees. At the stove stood the driver, spatula in one hand, pan handle in the other, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. At the creak of the door, he turned his head slightly, nodding before returning to his call.   
Not wanting to intrude on the conversation, you seated yourself on the horsehair couch. There were so few things to look at. It was nice to have someone else around at least.   
You heard the bathroom door shut. Having zoned out, you missed Papa entering it. A few moments later you heard the driver hang up the phone. 

“Well,” he began, “so far things aren’t looking too good. I’ll make some more calls tomorrow morning. Food should be ready soon, though, it won’t be what you’re used to.” 

“Dare I ask what it is? Or would that ruin the surprise?” you quipped. He laughed. The only other sound was the frying and the shower.

“Waiting it is, won’t be long now. Want to set the table?”

“Sure.” You got up. The kitchen was small, a wood cabinet stood beside the small counter. You made your way towards it. 

“Unless you want to eat with a rifle, I would suggest the drawer for utensils and the cabinet above me here for plates.”

“Right…” you trailed. You knew that it was likely there were firearms around, but, the knowledge of how close they were and how unfamiliar you were with the place rubbed you the wrong way. 

After collecting the plates, forks, knives, and a few glasses, you set the table. It was all very quaint to say the least. 

“You can call me Arnie by the way.” The driver spoke again, flipping the pancake. Only then did you notice the fair-sized stack beside him and the bowl in the sink. 

“Right, Arnie.” You spoke, fixing a fork.

“I don’t blame you for not remembering, the past little bit has been, er, busy to say the least.”

“Yeah…you holding up alright?” you said, Arnie seemed to stiffen at the words.

“Yeah, well, as best as to be expected, thanks for asking, yourself?”

“Well, you know…” you trailed.

“I kind of do.” He said, adding the pancake to the stack. He grabbed the plate as well as another that had been just out of your sight. 

The door to the washroom opened with a lurch and a cuss from the man behind the movement. He shivered slightly as he walked, towel draped over his shoulder, blue and white stripped pajama pants slightly too tight, the matching shirt fully unbuttoned. Catching the way you looked over him, he smirked and scoffed before sitting across from you. 

“So,” you started, catching Papas attention, “when should we start dinner, Arnie?” You let your head fully tilt to Arnie’s waiting gaze. 

“Whenever you are ready.” He responded, setting the plate of pancakes and the one of fried spam on the table. “I found a couple cans of sliced peaches for dessert whenever you two are up to it.”

“The pancakes are…filling” you offered part way through the meal.

“We don’t have milk or eggs so I had to use oil and water,” Arnie said, inspecting his next bite.

“Thank you for not letting us go hungry.” Papa finally spoke.

The meal was overall uneventful. Pancakes dull, spam extremely salty, and the peaches a nice change. You wound up splitting the peach juice in the end, each getting a serving after draining your glasses of water. 

You all pitched in in cleaning up, Arnie promised to wake you both in the morning. Noticing your head had begun bleeding again, he grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink, making easy work of the patch job. With a full stomach, you quickly got ready for bed, realizing how tired you were.

Beneath you the bed was all too soft. You could hear Arnie and Papa softly speaking and the click of the first aid kit re-opening. The harshness of the day faded in the heavy quilt that lay above you and the soft scent of evergreens. Sleep beckoned.


	2. Migration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Car rides...my butt hurts thinking about them...

A cold sweat woke you before Arnie had half a chance. Your fingers dug hard into anything they could, crushing the soft fabric, knuckles turning white, hidden by the darkness of the room. Shock settling, reality crashed around you, dragging you like a wave into the depths of your fears. Surely by now Copias cleanup crew had gathered and counted who had been taken care of. They must have known your body wasn’t there. They would be coming soon. The nightmare of the day before seeped into your consciousness thick and unforgiving as a toxic sludge.

Quilt and thoughts weighing on you, a knock came at the door. 

“H-hello?” you called cautiously. 

“Hello in there,” Arnie whispered through cracked door, “so you were already awake too huh?” 

“I guess,” you furled the blankets around you, sweat drenched pajamas already clinging to you.

“Peaches, crackers, and coffee for breakfast. I like to help but you aren’t going to get any luckier today. I found a good offer but if we want it we have to get out of here within the next half hour alright?” His sweet tone felt all too infuriating. The kindness he offered felt sour when you already felt so little control over the situation.

He didn’t wait for your response, leaving the door a crack open, the thin strip of light near blinding in the dark room your eyes had tried to become accustomed to. Fumbling out of the nest you had formed, you reached for the lamp’s switch. Swears slipped from you as you found it. Light much too bright. Quickly, you switched it back off, opening the door a crack more. 

When you left the room, you were glad for the bad lighting and the fact your pajamas were a dark colour to begin with. Based on the hunched form at the table, you hadn’t been the only one who had trouble sleeping. Papa looked so exhausted you wondered if he could even feel the steam from his coffee as it hit his face. 

The smell of the coffee on the stove overwhelmed everything else in the room. Nausea found you. The room spun slightly. Arnie seemed to notice the condition you were in, pulling a seat at the table out for you with a worried look on his face. 

“You doin’ alright?” he asked as you stumbled to the seat. 

“Fine, fine, just slept wrong.” You said, voice shaking. Arnie swapped a concerned look with Papa, who no longer stared blankly at his coffee. Arnie quickly poured some juice from an opened can of peaches into a glass, urging you to drink. It tasted too sweet, but, how parched you were was suddenly apparent in the desert like texture it washed away. It was a few minutes before the sugar hit your system, but, it was a relief when it did. While you nursed the peach juice that remained, Arnie started to explain in very vague terms what would happen.

He mentioned first, burning the old clothes, so anything that was needed from them had to be recovered soon. Personal items discouraged as you would have to lay low. The next was how there would only be two stops, both where vehicles would be traded off, one would include food, the other would include a switch of clothing before getting to the final destination. Given there was such a time crunch, that any of the clothes would be fine for the first stretch of the journey, though, blending in was encouraged. Shoes were under the bed.

Feeling slightly better and assured you could bring the opened can of peaches should you need them, you went to get dressed. A pair of plain navy slacks and a white button down seemed to fit the bill. The coat you grabbed was far from suited to the outfit, it, however, was the only spring jacket even relatively your size. The dark brown loafers were the only thing in your shoe size. On the bright side, they were comfortable.

You picked your soiled clothes off the bathroom floor, bringing them to the main room. Set against the couch, they seemed almost alien, even to you. Aside from a lighter and your cash, nothing seemed to be worth bringing on the journey, everything else, id included, could be replaced. 

Papa emerged from his room, an outfit wildly unsuited to how he dressed before adorning him and his own soiled clothes draped over his arm. Unsure of how he was, you were all too happy when Arnie popped back in the door. 

“Let’s get a move on.” Was all he had to say.

Arnie guided Papa and yourself towards the garage, dragging open the doors to reveal a group of vehicles. He wadded through them before popping the trunk to a far from mint Plymouth Roadking.

“Anything that’s being burned in the basket on the left side of the trunk. Keep your personal items with you.” He spoke, moving to pop open the driver’s door. “Last person closes the trunk.”

 

The ride was far from luxurious, rough unfamiliar roads seemed to be all you traveled on the first stretch. It was hard to believe so many fields existed in the entire world. The empty spaces did nothing to help the disassociation that nagged at you. Luckily, some fields held farmers, preparing their land for the coming months, others held birds, freshly migrated. Hardly a word was spoken until you were about to arrive at the first trade off. 

Arnies voice seemed to echo in the still air, “I won’t be with you all the way through, Mark will drive you to the next stop, then Frank will pick you up. This is very important, so, listen closely. When you arrive at the restaurant, Frank will be wearing a blue suit and a red tie with golfers on it, greet him like a friend you haven’t seen in a long time. If everything is safe, he will offer you some of his fries, if not, he will complain about them, if that happens there is a phone number taped to the bottom of the payphone console just outside. Call it. Understand?”

All you could do was nod. 

“Tell Mark I said hello, I have a feeling whatever he picked for clothes won’t be to your usual taste,” he paused, remembering what you had been forced to wear for the first stretch, “but, it is important that you wear whatever he says. Fitting in is imperative where you are going. All that being said, here we are, good luck.” 

The car lurched as it stopped, dust from the farm road kicking up around it. You looked at the brown eyes in the rearview mirror a moment, then over to your travel companion, just to catch his door closing, his seat empty. 

“Thank you, for everything,” you said as you rushed to catch up with the older man. As you walked, you could hear the car pull back down the drive. 

The farmhouse was small. Mark beckoned you to hurry in. He ushered Papa into the bedroom first, motioning at the clothes he had set for him before unceremoniously closing the door behind himself. Before you could ask about the washroom, Mark signed that it was outside. You thanked him and hurried to it. 

When you came back in, you were welcomed with a wash basin and the sight of Papa in a suit, well-tailored, but far cheaper than the ones you were used to seeing him in. No sooner than he saw you was he on his way to the outhouse. It was your own turn to get dressed. 

Mark motioned to your outfit with a big grin, your own face solid in disbelief. 

Dressing as fast as possible, ensuring you remembered the cash and lighter, you went over all the ways this could go wrong in your mind. A speedy look in the mirror and a minor adjustment or two, and you came out. 

Mark clasped his hands together as you emerged in your sleek short sleeved button up blouse and light blue ¾ skirt, obviously delighted. The returned Papa was fighting and losing a battle to conceal his grin. It was hard to disguise how you felt about the entire situation, but, you did your best. Mark quickly applied some rouge and lipstick to you as your eyes darted around, unsure of what to do. He dropped both the tube of lipstick and the compact into a handbag before urging you to take it and scooting everyone out the door. 

Again, the trip was silent. To the best of your knowledge, hardly anyone from your professional life had seen you in anything other than suits. It was hard to ignore the glances Papa tried to stealthily steal of you. Just to annoy him, you made sure to take out your compact at least twice, fixing the edges at the sides of your lips by wetting one of the tissues you found in your bag and slowly dragging it down. His sudden discomfort was evident in the way he cleared his throat, shifted, and looked out the window. It was amazing how many things Mark thought to put in one tiny handbag. 

By the time you reached the restaurant, it was well past a reasonable dinner time. Hunger clawed at you. 

Inside was wonderful, the scent of frying burgers and pies mingled in the warm atmosphere. It didn’t take long to spot the man in the blue suit and red golfers tie. It was obvious he was on edge, playing with his fries more than eating them. 

“Frankie!” you exclaimed before Papa could speak, “I don’t believe it!”

Frank shot out of his chair so fast he almost knocked it over.

“Well what are you waiting for, come on over? Say, want some fries?” Relief was evident in his tone the same way it washed over you. 

Papa sat first, you excused yourself to the washroom. When you returned, the table seemed tense. You snagged a fry as you sat, dipping it in the small bowl of gravy. Papa excused himself.

“How do you survive that- sorry, bad wording…” Frank said. You shrugged as you grabbed another fry. He moved the plate closer to you. You gave him a look to see if he was sure, he nodded. You thanked him and began to eat. 

“You, uh…Mark sure is something with looks huh?” 

You snorted “Yep,” you said, pausing to swallow your mouthful of fries, “It is a look for sure,”

“A good look.” Frank assured, eyes wandering, “A very good look, almost suits you. I hear the blouse business is running well.” 

It was hard to tell if he was serious about the first point, you gave him the benefit of the doubt as you were more focused on eating. You hoped the second part of the remark was about how your underlings were dealing with the situation and not anything you would have to consider disrespectful. 

“Can’t wait to get wherever we are going, being around associates in makeup doesn’t find me right.”

“At least the lip is your colour,” Papa interjected before sitting back down.

“Anyone want something else to eat?” Frank offered. 

The meal was fine, the chocolate malt was rich enough you had to share it. Before long you were all piled back into a car. 

Hours more passed, fields, small towns and more fields passed as well. It was fairly dark again by the time you got into a city with a size worth something. Most everything was closed. Frank pulled into a suburb. Perfectly groomed bushes and white picket fences held an eerie air in the darkness. Each passing house looked slightly different, not different enough to seem out of place. 

“Who’s stop is this?” You asked as Frank turned into the driveway of a dull house in need of repair. 

“Didn’t Arnie tell you?” The man spoke, confusion and concern evident in his voice, “You two are staying together.”


	3. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New house, you walk around it on your feet, new house, its a slow burn so no meat

“I can explain.” Came Arnie’s voice through the phone. 

“Please, go right ahead.” Papa grumbled, your heads close as to both hear the man on the other end of the line. 

“All the safe houses had one kink or another, this was the only way I could ensure you were safe for the time being, with any luck, things will brighten up. Lay low and act natural. Blend in. There should be a moving truck in tomorrow. If anything business related needs work, I’ll get in touch. I gotta run.” 

Before you could respond to Arnie, the line went dead with a click and a ringing tone. 

The kitchen the two of you stood in was practically barren. Cabinets empty, shelves all too pristine, drawers holding nothing but a squeak in their rollers. Papa hung the pale green phone back on the wall. Hands in pockets, the heel of his plain brown shoes tapped on the shiny linoleum floor before they hit the hardwood of the hall. 

You stood alone. 

Empty suited the place and unfortunately, those who now stood in it. 

Exploration seemed like a nice reprieve from everything, so, you began. 

It was a large house. First thing coming in, there was a mudroom with a small built in closet. Two doors, one to the kitchen, the other to the main foyer. In the kitchen now, you re-examined all the cabinets. Still empty, with the exclusion of the shutter doors that hid the washer and dryer. You thought of picking the phone back up, but, who would you call? It stood untouched.

Connected to the kitchen was the dining room. Large windows, had there been sun, it would have been well light. The light switch had been disconnected, the wires without anything to connect to in the ceiling. Cream coloured spackle adorned the ceiling, it looked fresh. There were minor marks on the wood floor where the table and chairs had been, memories etched into the polished wood. Bleach sat in the air. A good cleanup team no doubt. The dining room opened up to the hall, the sliding door stuck open. 

Coming into the hallway, there was another room to the left. It’s sliding doors spread open. A study, empty book cases and a big oak desk remained, the desk lacked a chair. A rear facing window showed a pool room. A swim might be nice.

The living room stood across from the dining room and beside the study, an open concept. The only thing that blocked the view of the stairs was a wood panel enclosed doorway.   
Cautiously, you approached the door, loafers thumping on the thin carpet of the living room. The crystal doorknob turned easily. Noticing a light switch just inside the doorway, you flicked it, a bare bulb flickered to life. Before you sat plain cedar stairs. 

The basement was cool. Red carpeting with thin strands of orange sat on the floor. Other than a tiki bar in the corner, it was empty. The bar itself was nice, well kept, six stools wrapped around the incomplete quarter circle. There was a door next to the bar, a wiggle of the handle did no good, it was locked.

Making your way back over to the stairs, you noticed a small closet under them. Again, empty, a loose panel near the back but only a sliver more of empty space behind it. 

Footsteps came down the stairs as you exited the closet, Papa was dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas. 

“The closets in the master bedroom have some clothes and bedding, everything else is empty. It’s the room at the end of the hall upstairs.” Papa explained hastily, starting his own investigation of the tiki bar. You nodded, making your way upstairs. 

Confident your temporary housemate had checked everything, you made your way to the master bedroom. It held a king size bed with down comforter, plush in every meaning of the word. Realizing the toll the car rides had taken on you, nothing seemed better. Nothing that was, until you realized there was a full en-suite bathroom. You grabbed a large pair of pajamas and a towel from the still open closet and moved to the bathroom.

It was gorgeous, tiles sparkling, a large tub in the corner with added shower mount. The tub, sink, and toilet were all the same shade of lavender. You didn’t bother to look around much before turning one of the silver sink faucets. Luckily, the water was running and warm. 

The shower was pleasant, it was however far from being at home. Even with no soap to properly clean, you enjoyed the stream as it rolled off your shoulders, bringing some of the stress with it. Toweling off and getting dressed turned your mind back to auto pilot.

Leaving the washroom, you were greeted by the sight of Papa dozing off in the large bed. 

“Asshole” you murmured, kicking yourself for not just claiming the bed. Heading the warning that the other rooms were empty, you grabbed a couple blankets and a pillow from the closet. Checking behind each of the four other doors in the hallway, you discovered another bathroom, two smaller bedrooms, and a long room that could probably work as another office or studio. None had a bed. You took the bedroom nearest the master and set up a bed for the night. The carpeted floor was soft, but, you lay one of the blankets under you anyway. An uncomfortable sleep lay ahead. 

 

When you woke up, the sun hadn’t risen yet. It took a moment to remember where you were. Reality seemed far away yet still all too close. Sneaking back into the master bedroom, you pulled a pair of slacks and a button up, neither of which fit even remotely correctly. You had worn plenty of men’s clothes, but, these obviously had not been for you. All things considered, you were past the point of caring. 

Venturing back downstairs, you noticed a door to your left, most likely to the garage. Opening the door, you were rewarded with the smell of motor oil and the sight of a red and white hardtop Fairlane. Bare feet against the cool concrete, you continued in, leaving the door open behind you. Nothing about the car said it wouldn’t run like a dream, it was well cared for, polished, obviously someone had taken pride in it. The keys to the car sat on a hook, you snagged them, not wanting it to become another bed incident. They felt good in your hands, cool, but a sense of control came with them. Twirling them around your finger, you reentered the house. 

The rumble of a truck pulled up the street. You watched from the kitchen window as it backed into the two-car driveway. A knock at the door. You scurried to meet it. 

Before you stood Arnie in a mover’s jumpsuit. 

“Before you have me killed, I never did say you would be staying separately, besides this is the safest option. Why are you wearing Papas clothes?” Arnie’s hurried voice sputtered, stalling as he looked you over.

“Had to wear something.” You plainly responded. 

“You are supposed to be blending in, as in, dressing like the women around here.”

“Pardon me, what?”

“I didn’t know your size but I guessed, the right side of the closet is yours.” He sighed “I should have explained better, I have some furniture. Want to get some groceries done after this gets moved in?”

“Sure.” You replied, moving to help unpack the truck. 

Each box had a label saying where it went. Having been half full, only the bare essentials were included. Arnie helped you unpack, Papa came downstairs, fully dressed, around half way through. 

“Thank you for joining us prince Papa,” you scoffed, wiping the sweat from your brow. 

“How’d you sleep? Noticed your nest on the way down.” He sneered back, stretching as he approached. He winced as he pulled his arm across his chest.

Arnie was obviously nervous, unpacking and placing things away quicker. 

“So, groceries, you two need them to eat” Arnie said, trying to diffuse the situation.

“True, when are we headed over?” you replied. 

“Actually, did you notice the grocery when we came into town? Why don’t you head out, I’ll get the rest of the unpacking done.” 

“Okay. I’ll be back faster than a homesick puppy.”

“You ought to change first, blending in, remember?” Arnie interjected. 

“Fine.” You said, moving towards the stairs. Papa smirked. What you wouldn’t do to set him straight. 

The closet held a few options, unfortunately, all dresses. You grabbed the plainest you could find, slipping a brown belt around it, snagging the lone coat that hung in your side of   
the closet. You grabbed the loafers you had worn the day before as well as your handbag. Half way out the door Arnie raced over to slip some cash into your hand. You thanked him and made your way to the garage. 

The car drove better than a dream. Not wanting to get turned around and lost, you took the route you remembered back out of the suburbs to the grocery, making sure to note landmarks and street names to find your way back. The first stop sign you hit, you wrote down the house’s address on a notepad you found in your purse. 

The grocery was clean, quiet in the early morning. Soft music played over the stereo system. Loafers thumping on the floor, wheels of the cart melodically turning, you started to shop. The place smelled of fresh carboard at first, then citrus as you moved closer to the fresh produce, then cold cuts nearer the deli. 

People nodded after a look of confusion as they saw you, you nodded back. It became apparent as more people arrived that this was a tight knit community. 

It was hard not to feel lost when trying to blend in in a new environment. Observation seemed to be your best route. You noticed a woman place a penny pincher cookbook in her cart so you snagged one as well. She grabbed three cans of green beans so you did as well. She reached for an apple, but lost her balance, knocking a few to the floor. You rushed to help her collect them, putting a few in your cart instead of back on the display. 

“Thank you so much, I can be such a klutz,” her voice was soft, as was the motion she used to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“Not a problem at all.” You said, straightening yourself out a bit. Her eyes dropped over you. 

“Say, I haven’t seen you around have I? How rude of me! I’m Norma, pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her gloved hand out for you to take, so, you shook it. An impressed look met her face. “Firm handshake, I like that.” 

A blush set across your face.

“Anyway, I hope to see you around, I’ve got to get going, my Bill gets so upset when his breakfast runs late. Husbands right?” 

“Yeah, haha, see you…” you said, her smile and polka dot dress disappearing into the next aisle. 

Your head began to ache, fingers finding their way to the bandage on your head. Warm, but at least no blood soaked through. Florescent lights in the ceiling started too feel too bright, as did the bright yellow cleaning agent packaging. Blinking fast hardly fixed the problem, but it alleviated it slightly. As you rolled into the checkout, you added two bottles, one of ibuprofen, the other of aspirin, to the conveyor. A smile from the cashier was returned with your own. You paid. You left.

Inside the house was slightly fuller by the time you got back. Hauling in the paper bags, you noticed a small table now sat beside the wall in the foyer. You let your purse drop onto it, balancing the bags in your arms. 

Papa and Arnie sat at a small table in the kitchen, going over a pile of documents. Papa had his elbows on the table arms propping his head up.

“Welcome home!” Arnie greeted as he took one of the bags and placed it on the counter. 

“Thanks?” you said uncertainly. 

“You’re just in time to get a few things settled. Now, first things first,” Arnie said, head in the fridge as he put groceries away. “Have you met anyone?”

“One lady named Norma, that’s it though.” You produced a bottle of ibuprofen from the bag, tipping out a tablet before reaching for one of the new glasses. 

“And which name did you use?”

“I didn’t.” You filled your glass with water before popping the tablet in your mouth.

“You what?”

“I didn’t, use a name that is.” Water met your tongue as you washed away the chalky taste. 

“Well good, your name is Rose, says so on your brand-new birth certificate on the table.”

“And you’re serious?” you remarked, hardly setting your glass down before dashing to the table and all of its papers, sifting through them.

“Dead, which is what we’ll all be if we don’t pull this off.” Arnie cautioned, “Copia already has some pretty big rewards going for information about you two. My even knowing you’re alive could get me in deep shit. If either of you have questions, please, make it quick, I have to be on a plane real soon.” 

“Did someone really call Papa Walter?” you chuckled, holding the older mans new drivers license in your hands, the picture not looking nearly as exhausted as he did.

“Sure as the sun shines.” Arnie announced, grin illuminating his face. 

“And it’s in all of our best interests to set up this charade then?” Papa grimaced, his head lifting from their rest in his hands. 

“It sure is, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a one shot man why am i doing this


	4. Welcome Wagon

“Good one” Papa smirked, index and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

Arnie chuckled. “I’m not kidding, look at your marriage license, on top of the deed to the house, it’s right next to your wife’s driver’s license. Happy one week by the way.”

The smirk and his hand dropped as Papas eyes grew wide. He fumbled for the marriage license, nos pouring from his mouth in a steady stream. 

Slack jawed you looked at Arnie, who bowed and left. 

Papa raised a paper from the pile so delicately it seemed it may shatter if you let out a breath. In bold print were the words “CERTIFICATION OF MARRIAGE” underneath, in  
handwriting too much like your own, your new names. The door was hardly closed before a knock came upon it. 

Looking to Papa, he rubbed the back of his neck. Another knock at the door. A deep inhale from Papa. Another, more rapid knock. 

“LISTEN,” Papa barked, legs carrying him like the wind to the front door, disappearing from your view, the front door audibly causing a stir from how fast it swung open,“IF YOU HAVE ONE MO…” 

Silence. You heard the moving truck start up and pull out, dread filling you, you bolted to the door.

There stood Papa, mouth still open, frozen in front of Norma and a woman you didn’t recognize. Your eyes slid from one to the other. Statues. 

“Norma?” you questioned. You saw the woman in the polka dot dress shudder a bit as she took a breath in, her companion studying you with fear. 

“Hi.” Norma managed. Her gloved hands extended to present you with a basket of food and other goodies. You noticed the woman beside her slowly releasing the vice grip she had on the basket she had clutched to her chest. “W-we are the neighborhoods welcome wagon…hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time…the mover was leaving in an awful  
hurry…”

Papa made quick work of straightening out his appearance, a look of sympathy washing his face clean of the rage it held before. 

“I must apologize…the mover he…well you see…” the usually silver-tongued man seemed absolutely speechless. 

“There was a mix-up,” you picked up, “we have to replace quite a few things…”

“Yes,” Papa confirmed, looking at you, “yes, my anger got the best of me, please, forgive me, if you’d care to come in.”

“No. What I mean is, we have somewhere to be, families to tend to…right Norma?” the woman in the green dress was obviously still shaken. Norma nodded, sending you a sympathetic look. 

“I’ve got an extra roast going, I’ll bring it over tonight,” Norma said to you. “Before you say anything, it is a welcome gift, I won’t take no for an answer. Carrots, potatoes, the whole nine.” 

“Thank you, that Is very gracious.” You replied. Norma held concern in her eyes. You gave her a weak smile. She nodded. 

“See you then.” Norma said as she placed her basket in Papas hands and began to walk away. 

“Thank you again.” You called, the woman in the green dress retreated to Norma after placing her own basket in your hands. Papa closed the door with his foot. He looked at you dumbfounded. 

“What fucking part of “blend in” are you not understanding?!” you chastised “I’m wearing all this frilly itching garbage and you can’t help but yell at the neighbors?!” 

“I thought it was-“

“I don’t think about what you thought! You almost cussed out those nice ladies! Scared one of them half to death!”

“Fine! I yelled! Sue me!” Papa said, storming back into the kitchen. 

“I don’t know who the fuck raised you,” you stormed right in after him “but if we are going to stand a chance of making this work, we can’t yell at the fucking neighbors.”

“I’m sure the neighbors would love to hear your ladylike language” he mocked, setting the basket on the counter. “Do you know any other words?”

“Fuck you!” You let your own basket hit the table with a clatter.

“And what, consummate our marriage?!” 

The words from Papas mouth stopped you both dead in your tracks. Both of you looked to the papers on the table. You picked the basket back up off of the table, foot dragging a chair untucked, and setting it down smoothly. Both sets of eyes met the piece of paper again. 

“Rose,” Papa said.

“Walter.” You responded. 

He sighed before speaking again. “Did you get coffee?”

“Yeah. Did Mr. Mover bring a coffee pot?”

Papa nodded, moving to the now slightly more occupied cabinets. He pulled out a brand-new coffee pot, checking the bottom in case it still had the price sticker on it. He moved to fill it with water. You turned to leave the kitchen. 

“Where you headed?” he grumbled.

“Double checking the tiki bar.”

 

You had no luck finding anything behind the bar. A mental note to get more came to be. The two of you sat at the small wooden table, sipping the strongest thing in the house. 

The cups and saucers matched, the set was missing a piece. Another minor annoyance. 

“You get anything decent from the grocer?” Papa finally spoke, setting his cup down on the saucer. 

“Look for yourself.” You rubbed your head. Papa rolled his eyes, arms that had been draped around the back of the chair moving to lift himself up. Fist he checked the fridge. The pants were cheaper than what you were used to, but, the view certainly wasn’t. As he moved, you turned your attention to the basket on the chair next to you. In the center stood a note, black fountain pen on white card paper. 

“May your new home be as warm as a sunny summers day!” it read, a small sun drawn at the dot of the exclamation point. You smiled at the doodle before setting the paper with the documents on the table. Venturing deeper into the basket, you found some cheeses, some crackers, a case of salami, a small bottle of wine and a taster bottle of whiskey. 

Before saying anything, you sat back and watched Papa. He himself looked through a basket. As he unloaded it, it appeared to hold more fruits and vegetables than anything else. 

“Hey Walter,” you called out, watching Papa cringe as you did. “How do you feel about taking your coffee with a nip?”

“If that’s a way of coming onto me,” he started, turning to face you. You rattled the small whiskey bottle between your fingers to display it. Hardly considering for a moment, he set down a jar of mayo and joined you back at the table. 

After a brief struggle to undo the top, the stiff scent mingled with the bitter smell of the plain coffee. The two liquids mingled not long after. The warmth of the coffee met your tongue but the warmth of the whiskey ruminated after. The air and the man across from you both kept a slight chill. You drained your cup before gathering the papers from the table, separating the regular licenses and insurance cards. 

“What are you doing with those?”

“Putting them in the desk. Safe keeping for important documents. Don’t forget your cards, Walter.” The name felt foreign on your tongue and like a whip in your hand.

“Thank you, Rose.” He smirked back before returning his cup to his lips. You winced, realizing the whip went both ways. The time with him couldn’t come to an end soon enough. 

On the way to the office, you noticed that the living room now held a couch and a television set. The couch was simple, plain, a good fit. It was alone in its function; no other seating had joined it. You made a mental note to get more.

Looking to your left, the dining room was still barren. You were glad to at least have the kitchen table. Narrowly missing the doorframe, you walked into the study. There stood the desk, still chairless. You added to your mental shopping list. Getting a chance to really inspect it, you noticed how intricate the detailing on the legs was. A finger traced the floral patterns carved above the drawers. Tip of the finger feeling more than the late morning light, it became apparent just how much work went into it, fine lines and all. It was old, even the shelves were much newer, but their wood was nothing compared to that of the desk. Polished to a mirror like shine was the top. How strange the reflection that stared back at you seemed. The bottom right drawer opened with ease, the papers filled the empty space before you closed it again. Light danced on the ceiling through the window. 

Eyes following, you saw the glittering of the pool again. Another thing was added to your list. 

Papa was still nursing his coffee when you got back. You refilled your cup and re-took your seat. Silence seemed to be the theme of your time with him. 

He has a demanding air about him, though, not in the way most do. Papa held the presence of someone who didn’t know how to be anything but revered. To be looked at in the eye as an equal seemed almost foreign to him, infuriating to you. He was hardly a man of compromise in the arrangements you offered in the past, being here, with him now, seemed like the biggest business deal yet. The prognosis didn’t appear good.


	5. Cooked Carrots

“You weren’t kidding when you told Norma you had trouble with the movers!” The slim man spoke.

“Bill please…we are their guests…” Norma responded, giving you a look of apology. You just nodded with a small shrug. She relaxed a little, the roast she held swishing in its own drippings as she walked. 

“Don’t you worry, they know its all in good fun. Ain’t that right champ?” Bill said, elbowing Papa. The look of surprise overruled the look of disgust by a smidgeon, a forced grin followed the cascade of emotions that hit his face. 

“Sure do…sure do…” he said awkwardly. Bill turned in the nearly empty living room. 

“Why don’t you two get dinner ready to serve.” The guest remarked offhandedly. Norma rolled her eyes as she nudged you to follow her into the kitchen. Bills laugh echoed as you walked through the kitchen doorway. You almost pitied Papa. Almost. 

“I am so sorry for my husband.” Norma started. “He isn’t the best with social situations.”

“Not to worry, Walter isn’t the greatest with them either, well, he doesn’t seem to be here anyway. I’m sure their conversation is going swimmingly.” Norma shared a laugh with you as she grabbed plates off the nearby shelf. You grabbed utensils from the drawer. 

“Speaking of swimmingly, I know you aren’t exactly settled, but have you tried the pool yet?” Norma inquired.

You laughed again. “I don’t exactly have a swimsuit.” Norma paused in her search for a good carving knife. 

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.” You confirmed. “I wasn’t kidding about the movers.”

“Well, if this is too presumptuous, let me know, but the girls and I are carpooling out the Birchwood shopping center day after tomorrow, I’m sure we have room for one more.” 

“Thank you. That is very kind. I’m not-“

“Let me know after you have something to eat.” Norma said, picking the roast back up and setting it on the table. You were glad Papa had moved the basket off of the seat as Norma began setting the table. You joined her, retrieving the carving knife from the far back of the utensil drawer. 

 

Dinner went in such a way you missed the silence of the past few meals. Bill talked so much about every little thing you were sure your head would explode. For only meeting him before the meal, he acted as though he had known everyone for years in the worst of ways. No common courtesy. It seemed Papa had no clue how to handle the situation either.   
Without Bill noticing, Papa, Norma, and yourself had a conversation made completely of glances and shrugs. If Bill had been fluent in body language, he didn’t care to practice it. 

The shining light of dinner was the food itself. The potatoes had been cooked enough that they held together when picked up with a fork but would have slidden off a knife. Flavour from the roast and other vegetables seeped into them. The carrots were soft but not mushy, obviously added in much later than the potatoes and celery. Had there been one thing you weren’t expecting from the meal, it was how moist the meat itself was. Having not expected it, you had to catch yourself a few times as the juice threatened to seep out of your mouth as you chewed, but, given how beautifully the roast had been cooked, you hardly needed to chew. What it lacked in added flavor, it made up for in its own aroma. Lightly salted and peppered scents hardly compared to the mix of the vegetables and the roast meat itself. Savory. Perfect in the lingering damp that came early spring.   
Everyone cleaned their plates, much to Normas delight. 

Bill excused Papa and himself after the meal was completed, you grabbed another ibuprofen when they made it out the kitchen door, hands fumbling as your head grew worse. 

“Rose, I am so sorry, I had planned on just dropping it off but Bill decided to tag along, when we go shopping I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” Norma blurted, gathering the plates from the table. 

“The roast was great.” You offered with a smile. Norma shook her head before placing the dishes in the sink. The water started.

“Where is your dish soap?” 

“Um, Pa…” you caught yourself, “pardon me, Walter unpacked.”

Norma nodded as she continued to set up the sink, you wandered into the living room. On the couch sat Papa and Bill, one obviously more comfortable than the other. Papa stayed   
perfectly still in one corner while Bill sprawled over more than his own space.

“Walter.” You called. No response. “Walter.” You tried again. Same thing. Feet gentle on the ground, you moved to the side of the couch. 

“Uh oh,” Bill teased “looks like someone is in trouble!”

Papa turned his head to you, anxiety slipped off his face. 

“Where is the dish soap?” you asked, his mismatched eyes finally greeting yours. 

“Here,” he said with a huff as he stood, breaking the eye contact, “I’ll give you a hand. Bill, don’t go anywhere.”

Bill chuckled and nodded, oblivious to any malice Papa kept reigned back. You hardly spared a look to Bill as you made time back to the kitchen. 

“Hello Norma,” Papa greeted. Norma seemed too pre-occupied to notice. Papa continued his path to a cabinet under the counter. Norma finally seemed to snap out of her trance when you took the detergent from Papa and placed it next to her.

“Thank you, oh, hello Walter.” Normas eyes wandered over to the man beside you before looking at you again. “Rose you rinse, Walter you dry.” 

You moved to the second side of the double sink and a confused Papa opened a drawer to grab a dish towel, taking a moment to roll up his sleeves. Half way into the cleaning Bill entered the room, taking a seat at the table. Suds washed away fairly easily under the steady stream, once or twice you almost splashed yourself. Norma let her eyes linger on your hand once or twice as she handed you dishes. Papa let his eyes find Norma. The dishes were all cleaned fairly quickly. 

“Well,” Norma said, looking between both of you, eyes finding your hands again, “I hope you enjoy your new home, it isn’t often that we get couples who are…um…”

“Out of wedlock.” Bill chimed in. If looks could kill, Bill would be motionless in that wooden kitchen chair. 

“What I mean is.-”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, finally realizing what the lingering looks at your hand were for. “We are married!”

“But you don’t have rings on, neither of you.” Bill chimed in.

“They are…um…” you stammered, unsure of what to say.

“Being sized.” Papa picked up. “They didn’t fit quite right.”

Norma sighed, hand on her chest. 

“So, how long you two been married?” Bill asked.

“About a week now…” you trailed, remembering the “well wishing” Arnie had done on his way out. 

“Oh, goodness, you’ve hardly had time to settle in to the marriage never mind the house! How rude of us! We can talk when the girls and I pick you up day after tomorrow, around ten!” Norma rushed to get her things together, obviously embarrassed. Bill stood up and followed her to the front door. You and Papa looked at each other before following the pair. 

“It was a lovely dinner.” Papa said as Norma reached for the front door handle. 

“Anytime,” Norma replied, looking at you. With that, her and Bill were out the door. 

“Well, that was hasty.” You said, closing the door. 

“They probably think they’re keeping us from our honeymoon,” Papa offered, eyes out the window beside the door, watching the couple return to their home across the street.

You rolled your eyes, returning to the kitchen. He followed, helping to put away the dishes. Aside from having to figure out what was where, things went smoothly. 

You didn’t make the same mistake you had the night before, you got changed and took the bed before Papa could get to it, glad to notice a hamper for dirty clothes in the en-suite bathroom. 

Upon seeing you curled up in the bed Papa stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Trying to get some sleep. You got the bed last night, you get the floor or wherever tonight.” 

Too tired to argue, the man grabbed a pair of pajamas from the closet and disappeared down the hall. By the sound of running water, you guessed he was making use of the other full bathroom. You drifted off in the comfort of the plush bed. 

 

Head swimming, the sound of screeching hangers in the closet woke you. Eyes fluttering, the world around you seemed all too bright. Papa noticed you stirring. Even through bleary eyes you could tell there was a change in his face. His figure slowly approached. 

“You look like you’re burning up.” he commented, you recoiled as the words hit. He didn’t need any other answer. Papa disappeared, you rolled over, clutching your head. 

Thumping of rushed footsteps and rattling of pill bottles came down the hall. You shimmied loose of the large blanket to sit up, you swayed from side to side. 

“Lay down dumbass, if anything happens to you I’ll catch the blame for it. Besides, I don’t have time to hide your body.” A hand met your shoulder, hardly needing to apply any pressure to lay you back. An upturned moving box served as a bedside table. The pill bottles sat on it. Papa disappeared into the washroom, you heard the water run. He came back with a glass half full. 

“Drink.” Less a question more a demand as he lifted the glass to your lips, cradling the back of your head as he did. The water was cool, so was his hand. When he was satisfied you could drink, he set the glass down and popped open the bottle of aspirin. 

“I’m fine” you wheezed, head still swimming in the morning light.   
Papa snorted, dropping a tablet of aspirin into his own hand. He knocked it back and swallowed it dry. He let his finger tap the bottle to get another tab out of it. 

“Open up.” He said. You kept your mouth locked closed. 

“What are you, six?” he scoffed. You squinted at him, headstrong. “Fine, you want to act like a child, I’ll treat you like one.” After placing the bottle back on the box, he used his free hand to pinch your nose. When the sting in your lungs became too much and you had to finally open your mouth for air, he popped the pill in. He smirked as your face   
contorted to the bitter taste. 

“You want the water?” He teased. You nodded as fast as you could without giving yourself a headrush. Papa moved to sit at the foot of the bed. “You said you’re fine, get it yourself.” 

Struggling to roll and reach the glass, you refused to ask him for help. His smugness seared into you with every breath he took. Fingers stretching, you hanging part way off the bed face down, you could feel him watching you. You snaked closer. Finally, the cool glass met your overheated finger tips. Curling your fingers, you moved wrong, the glass   
tumbled to the floor, water spilling. You let your face drop to the pillow. 

Without a word, Papa moved from his spot at the end of the bed to retrieve the glass. Again, he brought it to the bathroom, filled it at the sink with cold water, and set it on the box. Had you the energy to turn to him, you would have glared. Focusing in on the glass, you scooted forward slightly. Reached out. Missed again, glass thumping to the floor. 

He took the glass and filled it again, setting it back on the makeshift table. Grimacing, you moved to sit up, Papa shifted at the end of the bed. Falling from the bed, he moved slightly, catching himself in favour of watching. You pulled yourself up. Then you grabbed the glass. You took two large gulps before the room went dark around you. 

Waking up for the second time that day was met with the smell of something cooking instead of the screech of hangers. The comforter lay tangled around you. Your head felt slightly better. A single aspirin sat on the box next to a glass of water. This time, it was easier to move, you got the tablet and the glass with only minor spillage. Keeping the glass in hand after washing the tablet down, you looked around. Based on how much brighter it was, you guessed it was past noon. After finishing your glass of water, you set it down on the box and fell back asleep. 

 

Papa was there when you woke up the third time, setting a mug down on the table. 

You glared at him.

“You don’t look as awful.” He said, hands leaving the mug. The throbbing in your head was dull now. 

“Yeah.” You rasped. “Coffee?”

“No, you’re dehydrated enough as it is.” Papa had a new softness to his voice, had you not known better, you would have sworn it was concern. “It’s broth.” He finished.

“I didn’t buy broth yesterday…did I?”

“No.” Papa leaned back to grab the mug, you lifted your hands to take it from him. His hands felt closer to your temperature now, at least, that’s what you thought when they brushed against yours.

“Thanks,” you muttered before taking a sip. The broth was lukewarm. Salty and tasting heavily of carrots and onion. 

“When you get downstairs you can have more,” Papa said, standing back up. He left without another word. 

 

When the mug was empty, you tried getting up again. You felt almost back to normal. Bare feet on the floor, you headed to the washroom. On the side of the sink sat an opened first aid kit. The mirror reflected a face you recognized. A quick switch of the bandage and you felt somewhat better. The wound beneath had healed fairly well so far. As you began to feel dizzy, you took a break. 

It was no cake walk but you finally made it downstairs. On the stove stood a simmering pot. Papa sat at the table, ears perking as you entered the kitchen. The room was warm, the scent of the broth a comfort. As you became dizzy, you pulled up a chair. 

“Ladle is next to the pot if you want more,” Papa deadpanned. You noticed he was going over the documents Arnie had left. 

You nodded, taking a breath before re-filling the mug. Papa huffed at the papers. 

“When were we married?” he quizzed. 

“A week ago, right?” you responded after a quick gulp of broth. 

“Which day?” 

“Um…I’m not sure?” 

“Exactly. If we don’t get some sort of story together we are cooked.” He said dropping the pages. 

You rubbed your head, staring at the broth. 

“Then we make one.” You offered. “You got a pen?”


	6. Shopping With The Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know your neighbors...woo...

The sedan was full but comfortable. The three women all laughed and joked on the short ride to the shopping center. Norma was driving, the woman who had joined her at your door a few days prior was in the passenger seat. Through conversation you learned her name was Beatrice. Beside you sat a woman named Irene. She was soft spoken but by the way the other two joked with her, you could tell they were close. It was nice to be around people so close. 

A red light meant Norma had a chance to check on you. And when she did, she gasped slightly. 

“Are you feeling alright Rose? Need anything?” Her eyes peered over her cat eye sunglasses as she looked in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh, I’m fine, just tired I guess.” You responded wearily, managing a smile. 

“You do look a little worn down,” Beatrice chimed in, her dress scrunching as she turned in her seat to look at you. 

“Peppermint?” the shy woman offered after rummaging through her purse. You thanked her and accepted it, the taste of aspirin lingering from the rushed dose you took on your way out the door. 

“Is it the moving?” Beatrice questioned. She turned the radio down as she continued. “Moving is tough, I remember when Elmer and I were moving I hardly got a wink of sleep. Just as soon as I got half way done one thing it seemed there were two more things to do.” 

“Probably has something to do with that.” You offered. 

“Oh, plus you said the movers lost most of your stuff, isn’t that right?” Norma chimed in. 

“You poor dear!” Beatrice exclaimed. “What all did you lose?”

“Probably easier to say what they didn’t lose,” Norma spoke again. The conversation seemed to roll without you. “When Bill and I were there they hardly had a hope and a dream to fill the space. I didn’t even see a wedding photo; did they lose all your wedding things?” 

“Thank goodness you’re married!” Exclaimed Beatrice. “I was worried about having an unwed couple, no rings and all, not that it’s any of my business but-“ 

“Beatrice.” Norma interjected. 

“Oh alright. How long have you two been married?” Beatrice fully turned to look at you again. 

“Just over a week-“

“A fresh couple! No wonder you’re so exhausted! The move and the wedding and the honeymooning! Did you lose all the wedding gifts?” Beatrice seemed absolutely exasperated, it however, didn’t stop her from taking the half moment of quiet as an answer. “Oh how awful! I can’t imagine! You know what this means, this means we should turn this into a bit of a party to distract you! How fun! There is a great soda shoppe in the plaza! We can-“ 

“Beatrice, she is exhausted, lets take it one store at a time.” Norma said calmly, tossing you another glance in the rearview. You gave her a soft smile of thanks before her eyes went back to the road. Beatrice sat back properly in her seat with a bit of a huff. You rolled the peppermint with your tongue as you pulled into the parking lot. 

“A soda after we shop sounds good.” You said as Norma pulled into a space. Beatrice perked up almost immediately. 

“Perfect! They have floats that are just to die for!” 

“Now ladies, what do we need?” Norma asked, shutting the car off. 

 

The first stop on the shopping adventure was a furniture store. Beatrice was quick to hustle you around to check out each new piece that caught her eye, Norma assured you that you could put something on hold if you wanted to come back with “Walter”. Irene never wandered far from the group, either following close to Beatrice or Norma, like a child still clinging to the apron strings of their mother. 

You wandered away a bit, each time you did, the group would rejoin you. You tried to recall what all you absolutely needed. Some more things to sit on in the living room, a dinning table and chairs, an extra bed frame, side tables and lamps may be nice. You thought more about what may be nice before you stopped in the office section. You smiled at what you saw before moving on to the bedroom sets. 

First you eyed a modern looking metal frame for a double bed. The store had it set with a floral comforter, matching pillow cases, and a white sham to tie the look together. You imagined Papa on the dainty bed set and giggled to yourself. Pulling the note pad from your purse along with a pencil, you wrote down the item numbers. Part of another set had a cute side table, so, you took its number down. Next were two dressers, near identical but holding slight differences in their overall character. Unable to choose, you wrote both numbers down to decide later. 

“It’s nice right?” Beatrice mentioned as you admired a vanity and matching stool. She moved you to take a seat. The patterned wood was cute, simple in its complexity, the natural veins of the wood emphasized by deep thin cuts. The mirror it held was around the size of your upper half, the stool it was displayed with just short enough that you were able to scoot in. 

“If you ever want help setting the place up, or even some pointers, Irene is your gal. She fixed up Elmer and I’s place last fall. She may be quiet now but once she gets decorating, wow, she moves like a woman possessed!” Beatrice continued to sell you on Irene as Irene herself blushed. Norma nodded in agreement. 

“Bea is right, no one has an eye like Irene.” Norma added. 

Irene blushed harder. You noticed Beatrice’s hands move on your shoulder. Confusion lingered on her face as her hand moved. 

“Say, Rose?” she spoke. 

“Yes?” you replied with caution. 

“Did you lose a lot of your clothes in the move too?”

“Some I suppose…” you trailed. You didn’t get to ask why before you were being whisked out of the furniture store. 

“Beatrice! What are you doing?!” Norma practically yelled after you. 

“It’ll be fun!” Beatrice hollered back. Norma and Irene had to race after you. 

Before you knew it, you were in a Sears. Handsomely dressed mannequins and artful displays were all around. Lace and satin soon filled your view as you were pulled into a corner of the massive department store. 

“Beatrice” Norma wheezed, “Beatrice what is the-“

“Feel her shoulder!” Beatrice responded, snatching Normas hand and placing it of your shoulder. “Feel it!”

“Oh…” Norma looked at you. Irene looked at Norma. Beatrice shifted her head to catch Norma’s eyes. 

“See?” Beatrice pushed. Irene looked between the two just as you did. 

“I do…” Norma replied before turning to you. “Now Rose, I mean this in absolutely the most considerate way.” She left her hand on your shoulder as she spoke. “When was the last time you went bra shopping?”

You laughed, Normas eyes bore into you. Your lips sealed, swallowing hard.

“Being honest, because even though we just met, and I know you’ve been through a lot-“ Norma continued, just to be cut off by Beatrice again.

“Your bra feels like you got it from a box of Wheaties.”

Norma glared at Beatrice, her look softened as it returned to you. Irene stepped forward, hand lifted slightly. She gave you a look, stopping her hand short. You motioned for her   
to feel your shoulder. Her fingers delicately made contact. A grimace struck her face as she felt the ridges that lay hardly muted under the shoulder of your dress. Irene nodded at   
Beatrice, her curled hair hardly moving as she did. 

Beatrice took a step back to fully look you over. Her eyes widened. She swooped back, personal space suddenly seeming a foreign concept. 

“Honey,” she whispered gravely. “Are you not wearing stockings?” The other women’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t…have any…?” You mumbled. 

“Oh no,” Irene muttered.

“You don’t have any stockings?!” Beatrice bellowed, other patrons turned their heads. “Oh, we have our work cut out ladies.” She said to Norma and Irene as if you weren’t there.   
You wished you could vanish. Being held at gunpoint had been easier than being with three women convinced nylons were as essential as the very air around you. 

“Where should we start with you? How much do you know?” Beatrice asked, the shopping trip beginning to feel more like an interrogation. 

“Assume I know nothing except prices.” you said. It wasn’t exactly far from the truth. Part of one of your operations had been dealing in women’s clothing that had "fallen off the back of a truck". 

“Be mindful of a budget then, got it,” Beatrice said before absconding into the sea of undergarments.

Norma gave you a look as Irene followed after Beatrice. 

“Is this all new to you?” she asked.

“Yes.” You admitted. Norma looked you up and down again, sighing. 

“Bea can be a bit…brash…but she means well.” Norma peered over the racks as she spoke. Her head turned slightly, you guessed she followed Beatrice. “When Bill and I first got married things were hard enough with the help of family, I haven’t seen yours around.” Your mouth opened to respond but Norma shushed you. “It isn’t any of my business. It is my business when someone moves in and looks like they are drowning. The moving situation alone would drive me up a wall but combined with a new marriage and goodness knows what else…if you need anything, just let me know alright?” She stopped looking over the racks and back at you. 

You nodded. Norma’s words seemed sincere. 

“We have a sales rep!” Beatrice announced, guiding an eager woman with a measuring tape draped over her shoulders like a scarf towards you. Irene followed soon after, obviously winded. 

Again, you were ushered into unfamiliar territory. 

The dressing rooms were soft pastels. The all-around mirrors stared you down like an ant under the burning rays of a bullies magnifying glass. 

“May I?” The sales rep asked, extending the measuring tape towards you. It stayed taught between her fingers. The women sat down around you on the dainty waiting chairs, it became apparent this was a spectator sport. You nodded at the rep to begin. She took your measurements, jotting numbers down on a notepad fixed to a wristwatch mount between each. It was different from having a suit made by a long shot. The ladies tittered as your head swiveled like an owl to follow the rep. More than once were you reminded to stay still. Even fully dressed, you felt bare before them, none gave you a reason to fear them. 

When the rep announced she was done, the ladies all seemed to race from their chairs towards her, blurting out names of fabrics and styles you didn’t recognize. Standing on the small dressing podium you felt like a barbie in the shop window, waiting for these women to dress and re-dress you. 

The sales rep ushered you into a changing room before disappearing. The chatter of your new-found companions was just hushed enough you couldn’t make anything out. 

A knock came at the changing room door. “Are we decent?” The representative cheerily called.

“Yes.” You responded, swinging the door open. 

“Now don’t be intimidated” the rep babbled, “your friends warned me you weren’t used to this stuff, but, I pulled just about everything you may want or need or even have had the passing thought of, to show you your options. I have all the latest and oldest we carry for girdles, garters, and bras as close to your size as I could find. I also took the liberty of adding some of our specials to the mix, as per the request of the blonde lady, Norma I think it was. Remember, we have the catalogue for all your shopping needs as well. The slip I have with your measurements will be added to your bag at checkout for ease in use of size selection when ordering. If something is the wrong colour or you aren’t sure about the fit, get one of those nice ladies to call me back over. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said, thoroughly intimidated. The representative smiled again and vanished into the store. Just as soon as she was out of sight, Norma, Beatrice, and Irene were at the rack of items in front of you. They all set to work, re-arranging the mix. Occasionally they would pull a hanger and whatever hung from it loose to fully inspect it.

“Well,” Norma declared, wiping her hands against each other, “we, as your consultants, have picked the pieces best suited to you.” Irene and Beatrice, each with fistfuls of hangers, swooped around you and into the dressing room, setting the chosen pieces on the hooks. “Just let us know what you like or dislike as you find it, then we can narrow it down from there. Don’t be shy, we want to see these.” The three sat back in the chairs, content with their work. 

You nodded as you took a deep breath, preparing for the marathon of clothing to come. 

“Why is this bra so pointed?” was the first thing that you asked from the privacy of the dressing room. 

“No bullet bras, got it!” Beatrice called back with a laugh. 

“Is this thing meant to be so stiff?” you said, draping a shining white piece over the dressing room door. 

“That’s a corselet, if it weren’t stiff, it would be useless.” Beatrice called back. You heard a murmur and some suppressed giggles. “Let us know when it’s on!” 

A great deal of struggle later, you popped your head out of the dressing room. The ladies sat on the edges of their seat, looking to you when they saw the door move. Norma motioned for you to come out. You motioned for them to come closer. They were all too happy to oblige. 

Opening the door a bit more, they eyed you intently. Noticing the look on your face, Irene asked what was wrong.

“I can hardly breath, this thing hurts.” You said.

“Ah, they do take some getting used to, good for a backup. What exactly don’t you like about it?” Norma inquired.

“It fits around my lower ribs in a strange way, I don’t much like the way it pushes in. The strips holding it together are really uncomfortable, could we go for less of that?”

“You have just made this about 100% easier” Beatrice said, already dipping into the change room to put things back on the rack. About half of the selection was re-hung on the rack, only two of the remaining hangers held pieces with boning. “I left two to try, they are uncomfortable, but, nice to have as a backup or for special occasion, I took all the full corsets out though.” 

You returned into the dressing room, replacing what you wore with one of the other two corselets. It fit a little better on the ribs, however it was worse in the hip, much worse. The last and final corselet was as good as you figured it would get. It gave you a look like the women on the posters that hung just outside the dressing room. You called the women back. 

They all nodded in agreement that this was the corselet for you. 

“The cheapest of the bunch too! What a treat! Just remember to stand with your shoulders back, it helps with the breathing and the look!” Beatrice said, double checking the tag.   
“And before I forget, here, I had a spare set of nylons in my bag for just such an emergency, they’re yours. Try them on with one of the girdles!” She was obviously much more enthusiastic about this adventure than you were. 

After a girdle, a few bras, and garters, you were just about set. Or so you thought. 

“Rose!” Norma said as you returned to the changing room for what you hoped was the last time “How could we forget! You need a swimsuit!” you winced as Beatrice took off again. 

When she returned, the sales rep returned with her, another rack in tow. You guessed by the attention she payed, visits to the store were always events for these three. Irene held   
onto your undergarment selection for you as the other two sifted through the swimsuits. 

“Wait.” You said, snapping the others out of their sorting trance. “It’s this one. I want this one.”

“Very daring,” Beatrice smiled, “Give it a whirl.”

Out of all the things you had tried today, this was by far the one you enjoyed the most. When you exited the dressing room, the ladies oooed and ahhed at the way you walked. 

“Great pick,” Norma assured you, the others nodded in agreement. “I’m sure Walter will be ecstatic.”

“He doesn’t care much about these things,” you said, admiration in the mirror changing. You thought back to how unhappy Papa was when he found out he had to pretend to be married to you. Your face fell slightly. 

“He does care,” Norma said, tone softening again, “He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

“Panties!” Beatrice declared before running off again. You returned to the dressing room, determined to get back into your own clothes before she could get you to ty anything else on. 

 

Checking out, you noticed how much lower the bill was than you expected. The women all avoided your gaze. Beatrice’s eyes buzzed between the other women then back at yours.

“Please don’t be mad, think of it as a wedding present, maybe a housewarming, or a welcome to the neighborhood!” she blurted.

You smiled at the three. “Thank you, so much, you don’t know how much this means.”

 

The soda shoppe was quieter than you anticipated. The calendar that hung next to the booth the ladies rushed to reminded you it was a weekday. The ache in your head was still present, but far duller than it had been. You had hardly taken your seat when Beatrice started moving again. Pulling the garter belt from your shopping bag and pushing it into your hands, she motioned to the bathroom.

“I can see your nylons in your bag, go, put them on.” 

When you returned, you stuck your newly nyloned leg out for your companions to admire. They clapped in appreciation. You blushed and took your seat. 

It wasn’t long before the waiter came, then the orders, then the laughs about the adventure of the day.

Sitting in the soda shoppe, laughter filling the air, the stress of the Copia fiasco moved to the back of your mind, with the fizz of a cream soda, it felt like the start of something solid.

 

When they dropped you back at the house, you felt a strange almost kickback. This was a temporary place in your life. You would only be here until you could return home, you had a business to run, people counted on you. Kicking off your shoes, you went upstairs, not bothering to unpack the bags before setting them in your side of the closet. You sat on the king-sized bed, looking at the shopping bags. 

What were you doing here? It struck you. You had nowhere else to go, not if you wanted to survive. 

You ate a sandwich alone at dinner. Hunger hardly bothered you. The wave of apathy returned. No amount of shopping would change the fact you were wanted dead, that you were on the run. No amount of cheerful voices would change the fact these women would never know you, not in a real way. No number of tears would change the fact you were   
stuck, yet, they still fell on the table as you held your head in your hands. Sobbing wouldn’t fix anything, but, you couldn’t stop the tears as they trailed down your face. Chest hurting, not a problem of the physical but the emotional, you pushed your plate out of the way. The wooden table was cool on your face. The entire room felt too cool. The warmth of company had left you. 

“What are these, lottery numb-“ Papa stopped in his tracks, small slip of paper between his fingers, kitchen door partly opened as he saw you. Quickly, you grabbed a napkin to wipe your face. The plain cloth helped with the tears and the way your nose began to drip but it couldn’t hide the shame you felt nor the redness in your face.

“Are you-“ Papa started.

“Don’t.” you snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Papa opened his mouth to speak again, but, instead, he straightened his back and walked to the fridge, gathering the ingredients for his own sandwich. Eyes trailing him, he began his prep. He sliced the cheese and tomato, rinsed the lettuce, and pulled a piece of bologna from the deli package before assembling his meal. When he was done, he put everything back in the fridge, then, he took his plate out the door that lead to the living room. Through the wall you could hear the tv flicker on. You dropped your head back to the table. 

You got up and set up the coffee pot on the stove, adding an extra spoon full of grounds to make it stronger. Next, you went back to the foyer, pulling the notebook out of your purse. Without a word, you went to the living room and flipped a moving box to make a small table. When the coffee was at a rolling boil and you could see the bubbles in the glass up top were dark enough, you removed it from the heat, turning off the stove. You set out two saucers and cups, filling each carefully, dish rag around the overheated handle of the pot. Notepad tucked under your arm, saucer in each hand, you backed out of the kitchen. When you reached the couch again, you were payed no mind until Papa saw you set a cup in front of him as well. 

On the tv the twilight zone began to play, the irony was not lost on you. Not a word was exchanged until after the episode was done. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, Papas head swiveled in surprise. “And thank you, for the broth.” 

“If you died I would have had the blame placed on me,” he maintained, leaning forward to set down his now empty plate and grab his coffee. Papa pursed his lips and blew at the surface, faint ripples appearing. After a sip, he spoke again. “Thank you for the coffee.” 

“If this cover is going to work, we are going to have to at least be on agreeable terms,” you sighed, relieved he accepted the gift. 

“Ground rules would be a good place to start.” 

“As with any business agreement.” 

“Exactly,” Papa concurred. 

Silence again struck, the tv serving as a reminder that neither of you were speaking.

“Sandwiches will get boring quickly, we share responsibilities for meals.” Papa said after a mouthful of coffee. 

“Switch off who cooks what every other day?” 

“Exactly.” 

“We each take care of out own laundry.” You stated.

“You do laundry and I do repairs?” Papa bartered.

“We each take care of our own laundry, we each do repairs as we see them, you clean the upstairs, I clean down here, excluding kitchen, and we share downstairs.”

“I will clean both upstairs and this floor if you do laundry.” Papa offered back.

You considered a moment, taking a sip of your own coffee. “Deal. We split errands unless they need both of us.” 

“I drive if we have to go somewhere together.” 

“No, I got the car keys first.”

“Weren’t you the one who said we had to blend in?” 

“Fine,” you reclined, “but if we both have to be somewhere I get first call.”

“Unless it’s an extenuating circumstance.” Papa offered.

“You sound like a lawyer,” you inhaled deeply, “okay. We need a second bed.” You finished, placing your cup back on the moving box, producing the notepad. 

“Agreed.” Papa said. 

“Perfect, I have just the one picked out.”


	7. Phone calls

“Yes, that was the item number 6,5, hold on-” Papa pressed one hand over the phone and held your note in the other. “Is this a seven or a one?” 

“A one,” you said, adjusting your stocking as you walked closer. “At least I think so.” 

“If it’s wrong, you’re the one bringing it back.” Papa said before returning to his order placing. You waved your hand at him. You stretched as you moved back to the counter, examining the recipe once you arrived. Your back was stiff from sleeping on the floor but you returned to chopping up the broccoli none the less. 

“Now I get why the mayo was part of the welcome set, it’s in most of these recipes!” your frazzled tone obviously didn’t go unnoticed based on a pause from Papa. If you didn’t know better you may have thought he was about to laugh. If fitting in meant eating like this, you weren’t sure how long you would last. “Six cups of broccoli my ass…”

When the broccoli was chopped, you dumped it into the waiting pot of water. Adding a bit of salt and starting the burner, you put the lid on it. Next you started on the minced onion. Admittedly, your knife skills had become a bit rusty, of all the perks of being at the near top of your game, not having to cook unless you wanted to. Noting the suggestion at the bottom of the page, you stuck a matchstick between your teeth. You took a fair chunk of the onion off and began to mince it, estimating around 2 ½ tablespoons. Out of the fridge you pulled two eggs, the mayo, and margarine. You shuffled the casserole dish over a bit before setting things down and rinsing your hand. The freshly rinsed hand dipped into the margarine then schmeared around the casserole dish. Swearing, you went back to the fridge and pulled out the cheese, next, the grater from a lower cabinet, each move caused your dress to flare. You were glad none of the ladies thought to pull a crinoline, the garter belt and new bra were enough trouble. 

Once the broccoli had simmered long enough, you drained it and let it cool for a minute, not wanting the egg or mayo to cook on contact. Before it cooled however, you did throw in the onion and began to grate the cheese directly into the pot. Arm a bit sore and figuring you had added about half a cup, you opened the still nearly empty upper cupboard to get a can of cream of mushroom soup. Unable to find a can opener within 20 seconds of hardly looking, you stabbed the top of the can twice. Papa’s head whipped around at the popping sound. He shook his head, then returned to his call. Twisting the knife, you ensured all the chunks would drain into the pot. Once the can was empty, you set it aside and began adding the mayo and eggs. Looking at the amount of food in the pot, you pulled a second smaller casserole dish out, quickly greasing it as well. Once it was all said and done, you had two, albeit uncooked, casseroles in the fridge. 

A bit of cleaning up and the kitchen looked good as new, save for the empty can of soup. You grabbed the soup can, still undecided what to do with it. You heard the click of the phone being hung up and watched as Papa went to the fridge. 

“They should deliver everything tomorrow.” He announced as he walked. 

Unpeeling the aluminum foil from the remainder of the onion, he met you with a curious look. It became more curious as a knock came at the door. An exchange of glares and shrugs later, you set down the can and the matchstick from your mouth and the two of you moved for the front door. While you opened the door you realized some soup had made it onto your finger, so, you gingerly popped it in your mouth. Unfortunately, the door had opened faster than you realized and the man standing before you flushed a bit.   
Beside him stood Beatrice. Seeing her, you stood up straighter, she gave you an approving nod. Papa looked over everyone, unsure of the situation. 

“Rose, Walter,” Beatrice started, “My Elmer was home for lunch and I realized you hadn’t been properly introduced.”

“Charmed,” You said, extending a hand to Elmer, who gladly took it, but seemed to prefer looking other places than your eyes. You regretted straightening your back. 

“Likewise,” said Elmer, finally looking back up. Beatrice was obviously not impressed either. 

Elmer looked at Papa a moment before extending his hand to him. It seemed that only then did Papa realize he was still holding the onion. Swapping which hand it was in, Papa finally accepted the handshake. Elmer and Beatrice held the same confused look. You sighed. 

“So,” said Elmer.

“So?” Papa questioned. 

The tension hung in the air as dense as bricks. 

“So,” Beatrice continued, “Elmer is busy with the things down at the station, a policeman’s work is never done!” 

“Oh?” You and Papa said in unison. 

“Indeed.” Confirmed Elmer, obviously proud of his career and oblivious of yours. “You settling in okay? Couldn’t help but notice you aren’t hitched yet and-“

Papa put his right arm around your waist before speaking. “We are, don’t let the lack of rings fool you.” 

“They’re getting resized, didn’t fit right,” Beatrice interjected, looking to you for confirmation. 

“That’s exactly right.” You nodded. Elmers eyes wandered over you again. Papa noticed, pulling you closer. 

“Well, you sure are a lucky man.” Elmer smiled, eyes meeting Papa’s before looking back at the onion. “What’s the onion for? Competitor repellant?” Elmer said, the only one to laugh at his joke. 

There was a loud crunch as Papa bit straight into the onion, hand firm around your waist. Beatrice and Elmers eyes grew in horror. Papa chewed with a deadpan face, a sigh of content followed his swallow. 

“An aphrodisiac” Papa announced smugly, “not that I would need one with a girl like Rose. I don’t figure you would need one with Beatrice either. We are both lucky men, aren’t we?” 

“We uh…we sure are…” Elmer trailed, obviously perplexed. Beatrice blushed under Papas warm gaze.

“Well,” you announced, “don’t let us keep you from work, officer.” 

“Would be a shame to not have time enough to fit something in, we have all been there.” Papa followed up his addition with another bite of onion. 

Beatrice and Elmer both said their goodbyes before turning and walking to the house kitty-corner from yours. After a wave, you closed the door. 

“Why didn’t you tell me the neighbor was a cop?” Papa asked after swallowing his mouthful of onion. 

“I didn’t know! What was with you and grabbing my waist? And the onion thing?!”

“If I were married and some stranger looked at my wife that way, I would have grabbed her waist.” 

“Okay, but if you try and sleep with any of the women around here, just know I’m going to kick your teeth so far down your throat that the next time you get a toothache you’ll need to see a proctologist.” You started to move back into the kitchen. Papa followed.

“What am I supposed to do then? Not sleep with them?” He exclaimed.

You turned to face him. “If we want to keep this up and not be violently murdered, yes, not sleeping with them is the plan.” 

Papa seemed to think a moment, then his face changed to a devilish look.

“None of the men either, or anyone else. No sex.” You clarified.

Papa’s face dropped. “Now you’re being unreasonable.” He insisted, accent showing through. “I’ve already gone without for, what, four days?”

“Would be five or six, wouldn’t it? Four days ago, we were traveling.” You noted. Papa shrugged.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed. “We only had two stops on that trip! I can’t believe you!”

“It’s all the onions.” He grinned.

“Why don’t you just get a playboy subscription or something? Ouf, I can smell your breath from here.” You waved your hand in front of your nose.

“Aw, come on my darling wonderful wife, why don’t we enjoy our honeymoon phase?” Papa mocked, grin spreading as he winked at you. He grew closer. He really did smell of onion.

“Not likely.” You chided, slipping past him and into the living room. 

 

It wasn’t until after you had cooked the casseroles that you realized how much was there. Not only had it been extremely rich, but, it was filling enough you hardly made a dent in the first dish of it. 

“I know we agreed to change meal responsibility every other day,” Papa said, obviously treading lightly “but when we agreed, I didn’t think it was one meal for two days and some to spare.” 

“I think…I think I’m going to bring some to Norma…to repay her for the roast…” you said, defeated by your own casserole. “Yeah, I’ll do that now, maybe they haven’t eaten…”

They had eaten. Luckily, Norma was gracious enough to take the dish anyway. 

“Penny pinchers recipe?” she asked as you followed her into the house. 

“Penny pinchers recipe.” You uttered, looking down at the casserole as you walked. 

“Didn’t read the serving size I bet, don’t worry, that’s only a mistake you’ll make another thousand times.” Her voice was kind and understanding. As she guided you into the kitchen, the scent of strawberry and rhubarb hit you. “Just set it right down on the counter please.”

Noticing your slowed pace, she pulled out a dessert cookbook and began copying down the recipe. Her kitchen, though matching in many of the same components, seemed almost entirely different than yours. Aside from the scent of fresh baking, it didn’t feel so sterile. Where yours had plain cabinets, hers had handles tarnished by use. Where your backsplash shone like mirrors, hers shone because, even with the minor scratches, she still took care of it. Norma approached you with the newly copied recipe. 

“I have to get back to Bill and the kids, sorry, but could you see yourself out? Thank you again for the casserole, maybe next time you and Walter can come over for a meal, with or without the kids. I’ll get your dish back to you day after tomorrow, actually, why don’t you come over then, we can have a picnic, I’ll drop a line to Irene and Beatrice.” Norma said, obviously pre-occupied. 

“Of course, say hi to everyone for me.” You said with a smile, looking at the recipe in your hands. Norma dashed off and you found your way out. 

On the trip back across the street, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were being watched. In the flickering light of the street lamps and the fading light of dusk, paranoia began to creep over you. The dew began to set. 

The phone rang as you were getting back in the door, then Papa called for you.

“You have a friend on the line.” He said upon your entrance to the kitchen. His soft hand brushed yours as he handed you the phone. Maybe there was something wrong with the wiring, or he had been dragging his feet. The way Papa withdrew his hand made it seem as though he hadn’t noticed. You must have imagined it.

“Hello?” you said into the pale green phone as it found a place between your shoulder and ear. 

“Boss! You’re alive!” a cheerful ghoul said on the other end. “Where are you? Are you alright? What’s happened?” 

You smiled softly, leaning against the wall. “I’m safe, things running okay?” 

“Oh, things have been busy as ever, with most the competition scrambling or being taken over we have had our hands full. We were told you were dead and to give everything up, almost all of us stayed, we didn’t want to let you down.” 

“Thank you.” The obvious cheer in the ghoul’s voice warmed you. “How did you get this number?”

“Oh, I didn’t, one of the old bosses, may he rest well, one of his underling kidnapped me, I bit his hand, and he set me up in a phonebooth. My hands are actually tied up at the moment.” The ghoul babbled. 

You snickered, hand on your face.

“Even tied up you practically bounce off the walls,” you commented.

Turning slightly, you noticed Papa was still in the room. He did a quick blink at your tied-up comment. 

“Phone sex is safe then?” he asked. 

“No,” you scowled, covering the receiver with your hand. “I would appreciate some privacy.” 

Papa sneered before he grabbed a bruised apple from the fridge and left. 

“What was that? Are you with someone?” The ghoul enquired. 

“Oh, just someone passing through. Nothing to concern yourself with.” 

“Be careful.” The ghoul warned. “Seems like no one is safe right now.”

“I will be dewdrop, don’t you worry.” You assured. “I want you to lay a bit low alright, make it seem like no one knows what’s happened to me.”

“Consider it done.”

“Anything else?”

“We miss you. Are the people where you are nice?” Dewdrop’s tone seemed to shift almost to sadness.

“They are very nice, they mean well at least, except for one I would say. Hardly spent any time with him and he already rubs me wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed, thinking back to the way Elmer looked at you. “He seems like a real pig, if it were a different circumstance…” you trailed a moment before picking back up,   
“well I’m just going to avoid him as much as I can. You have things to do I’m sure, stay safe, be smart.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” the ghouls grin was evident through the phone.

“Don’t do anything I would do. Take care.” You finished before hanging the phone back up. You thought you heard something else, but, you must have imagined it.


	8. Delivery

The delivery truck showed up sometime around noon. As with the moving truck, you could hear it rumble down the street. Unlike the moving truck, you didn’t recognize the driver. 

It sat in the driveway, a wall of grey against the green shrubs. Two additional men hopped out the back as Papa greeted them, sleeves rolled up and sweat on his brow. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, he still refused to wear anything except slacks and dress shirts. Leaving your snack on the table, you opened the front door, the next few hours were a flurry of movement. 

“Walter,” you said, rounding a corner to look at Papa. “This seems like a lot more than I wrote down.”

“That’s because it is.” He said plainly before walking away. Watching one of the delivery men take the top part of their jumpsuit and tie it around their waist, you could see the faint outline of a brand under their white t-shirt. They all got back in their truck and pulled away. You took a deep breath. You noticed Elmer pulling into his driveway so you returned inside to find Papa. 

The living room now held two additional chairs and a coffee table as well as a standup lamp beside one of the chairs. No Papa. You rushed upstairs, a new bed frame stood, mattress pressed to the wall, bedding still in its packaging. You didn’t bother to investigate too much further, no Papa. You raced downstairs again, then down to the basement.   
There was a slew of boxes sitting around, most still sealed. 

“Bring that little one over would you.” Papa called from behind the Tiki bar. Looking him up and down, you noticed how stressed he looked. The cardboard box was heavier than you first thought, glasses clattering as you moved. It seemed to have wooden re-enforcements inside. It took balance not to tip it, one side was noticeably heavier. Papa looked it over before producing an exact-o knife and popping it open. The blade slid easily through the plastic tape. You watched as he started to unload the contents. Vials upon vials were pulled out. filled with a clear liquid. The labels held bold print, placing the words Delysid 25 in brackets under the larger print of the letters LSD. It was all pharmaceutical grade. 

“You’ve resorted to drug trafficking?” you said, arms crossed as Papa continued to unpack the box. Papa didn’t reply. Instead, you heard a voice from upstairs, panic crossed both your faces. You vaulted over the bar and started putting the bottles on the shelves. Papa grabbed the box and added it to the shelf, ducking down just in time. The glass rattled as footsteps came down the stairs.

“Hey there neighbor,” Elmer called out. You both winced. Papa stood up, more disheveled than before. 

“Hello, Elmer.” He said all too coolly. 

“Saw you were unpacking, front door was wide open, thought I’d see if you wanted a hand, you seemed to have your hands full with that wife of yours.” He chuckled, Papa faked a laugh. 

“No, no, all fine here.” Papa said, stealing a quick glance down at you. You swore as you realized your dress had gotten caught in your garter belt from the hop across the bar. 

“What are you doin' back there?” Elmer asked, taking a few short steps closer to the bar. His shoes padded dangerously on the floor.

“Just re-arranging things, new house, new sorting, you know how it goes.” Papa deadpanned as you tried to untangle the dress, careful not the elbow the shelf that held thousands upon thousands of dollars’ worth of illegal substance. 

“Why don’t I give you a hand back there then?” Elmer insisted. Your hair fell out of place as you moved in frustration with your new undergarments. You ran your hand across it but it only served to add some static to the mix. You wanted to yell. 

“No, no,” Papa insisted right back, moving closer to the gap between the bar and the wall. “My wife is very particular about how things are kept.” No doubt the men had started a staring match. You continued trying to untangle the mess but it seemed to only hike your dress further up. The garter was hopelessly twisted. You would have to take it off for any chance at straightening it out at all.

“Ah, I hear ya, where is the little lady anyhow, didn’t spot her upstairs.” Elmer moved closer to the bar, Papa took a step closer to the gap, foot landing on your finger, you let out a surprised yelp. The room stood still. You winced from pain and from letting Elmer know you were present. 

“Hi Elmer,” you said. Standing up, it was obvious how out of place your hair was, even over the bar, Elmer could see the mess of tangles your garters and dress had become. It didn’t help that the activity left you with a flushed face,

“Oh, wow…” Elmer’s voice trailed as he looked you over then back at Papa. He only then seemed to notice how Papa was less than presentable, the unbuttoned wrinkled dress shirt, the sweat, Elmer swallowed hard.

“How is Beatrice?” you asked, voice uneven grasping to make the situation more normal, aware of how close the officer was to enough LSD to get you locked up for life and then some.

Elmer held up a hand to stop you. “No need for that,” he said, “I know exactly what is going on here.”

You and Papa exchanged a worried glance. 

“Don’t let me intrude on your honey mooning, I’ll, uh, see myself out…” Elmer trailed before making a hasty retreat. 

You turned to face Papa fully, unfortunately in backing up, you bounced your funny bone of the bar with a loud thwack. “Ah, fuck.” You said a bit too loud. The steps on the stairs slowed for a moment before practically doubling in time. The front door closed with a slam. You grabbed you elbow. Papa let his lip pull up for no more than a second before returning to what he was doing. 

“What are you doing with a ton of LSD?”

“Holding onto it, oh, I have an errand to run in a few days.”

“Fine…just get groceries when you do, it’s your turn.”

 

The two of you ate separately. You sat on the couch and let the tv play as background noise. Papa finally came up from the basement when you were just finishing. When you entered the kitchen to wash your dishes, Papa took his serving and left through the dinning room door. Once you finished cleaning up and putting things back in the cupboards, you went over to the office. Papa sat on the floor with papers in an arch around him. He payed you no mind as he reorganized them. At the top of the arch was the marriage certificate. You went upstairs to set up the new bed. 

Getting the mattress cover and the fitted sheet on was no small feat. You found it was easier to leave the mattress standing up to get the edges on it. More than once the elastic edges popped up for revenge, more than once they caught you.

After getting everything set up, you pulled a set of the men’s pajamas and went for the shower. As you started the water running, you changed your mind, electing for a soak in   
the tub. Putting a plug in the drain, you let the tub fill. Head ache nearly gone, fever not noticeable, you took an extra aspirin to be safe. You grabbed a washcloth and a towel. You set the folded towel at the edge of the tub so you could lay your head back. Checking the water temperature, you turned off the faucet. The washcloth met the cold water of the sink before being wrung out, leaving it damp. You moved the pajamas onto the heat register.

The water of the tub was warm, the knots that had been forming in your shoulders began to slip away. The damp washcloth rested on your forehead. Deep breaths found you, so did your own wandering hand. First on your chest, the warm water and cool air contrasting deliciously, the rise and fall of your chest causing your nipples to harden when they met the air. You slipped a bit deeper, water rising to your collarbones. Warm water embracing you, you moved your legs slightly, the large tub was more than accommodating. Breath hitching as you continued to feel more, your mind began to wander. 

A man, well dressed, facing away from you. Cocky. Your breath sped up. He moved like an eel in a tank. Smooth and suspicious. He turned on his heel. Copia. That night. The blood, the bodies around you. The tub water felt like it was boiling around you as memories came fluttering back, brash motions causing water to spill onto the floor. You gagged and choked as some got in your mouth. Feet struggling to find solid ground, you pulled yourself from the tub with your arms. One of your toes pushed the plug out of place, causing the tub to start to drain. Tears stung at your eyes but none fell. Heart racing, you grabbed a fresh towel, the one that had been behind your neck having been pushed into the tub in your struggle. Drying off, getting in pajamas, then curling up in bed. That was your plan. Soiled towels went int the hamper. The warm pajamas met your body but you felt cold. Exiting the en-suite bathroom you noticed Papa sitting on the bed. You didn’t take the time to look at him, you just went to the other bedroom, closed the door and curled into a ball on the bed. 

The room was dark. You could hardly feel the blankets around you. Guilt crushed you. You were alone.


	9. Backyards

The radio played through the backyard. Music notes danced through the air. Norma’s crinoline kept her skirt full as she flittered between people. Bill and the other men stood around the round barbeque, kids laughed as they chased each other. Laying back on the blanket, elbows propping you up slightly, you dropped your head back. Squinting, you looked at the slow-moving clouds. Bare feet hung over the edge of the blanket, resting on the grass. Fresh air filled your nose, spring keeping your head light. 

“Rose?” Beatrice whispered. “Is everything okay?” 

“Hm?” you said, drifting back to reality.

“Is everything alright between you and Walter?” She asked. “You two haven’t talked once since you got here, plus, whenever you talk about him you use his full name.” 

Looking back, she was right. You looked at the clouds. “I guess I never thought about it,” you answered it. “Is there something wrong with not using pet names?” 

“Oh, honey, of course not, you use them in private then?”

“Yes,” you lied. 

“There is something else too…” Beatrice held her tongue a moment. Irene turned to look at the two of you as she sat, setting her fork down in her plate of potato salad. 

“I try not to be a nosy Nelly,” Beatrice hesitated again, “But, well, we…well I have noticed that, the lights in your house, well, you two sleep in separate bedrooms, don’t you?”

You stopped looking at the sky to look at Beatrice, a look of distress was on her face. You faked a smile. 

“We have just been busy setting things up, nothing to worry about.” You replied. She didn’t look convinced, her eyes again wandered to your ringless hand. Irene got up and went back to the food table. 

“You can tell me if something is wrong, I know sometimes the start of a union can be scary, if you want advice or anything just let me know. I know Elmer and I got off to a better start than my sister and her husband because we had a proper honeymoon.” Beatrice looked over to the grill, waving at her husband, he waved back. Papa stood, he didn’t wave back when you waved at him. Elmer waved at you instead and turned to say something to Papa. Beatrice looked into your eyes. 

“Does Elmer ever just get…cold?” You sighed.

“How do you mean?”

“On second thought, never mind. Thank you, Beatrice.” Your head tilted back up to the clouds. 

Irene returned with three bottles of soda, each with a straw in them. She handed you and Beatrice one each. The green glass shimmered in the sun. The red straw looked like the ripe strawberries on the table. Thanking her, you took a sip. Citrus bubbles danced across your tongue. Norma plopped down beside you on the blanket with her own soda, careful not to spill it as she adjusted. 

“The green bean casserole you brought is fantastic.” Norma said, watching the kids run by, “It’s one of my favorites, its been in every penny pincher since I can remember.” 

“No kidding?” you said, watching things form from the clouds. 

“No kidding.” Norma responded. “I haven’t watched clouds like that since I was, goodness, I’m not sure…Bea, when was the last time you just looked at the clouds?”

“My second date with my El, what a romantic he was,” Beatrice sighed. “What about you Irene?” 

Irene shook her head. The breeze blew, everyone on the blanket moved to lay down, looking at the clouds. Guitar floated from the radio, the sizzling of the barbeque continued,   
you wondered why Papa didn’t wave back. 

You blinked, why should you care? 

Norma sent you back home the casserole dish you had brought over two days prior with the remainder of food she had made for the get together in it. She insisted you take the rest considering she ate so much of the green bean casserole. You were hardly left with any options but to accept it. Irene sent you home with a recommendation for a cream to help the remaining mark you had on your head. Once goodbyes were said, you went back to the house, Papa followed awhile after. He went straight to the garage. 

You watched through the dining room window as he mowed the lawn, obviously upset about something, a snarl threatening his face. Once, when he pulled the chord to re-start the mower, he flinched hard enough you thought he tore something. He just kept mowing. You cracked a window open a bit to circulate the seemingly stagnant air. Smells of fresh cut grass filled the air. Turning to look through the living room windows, you noticed something you hadn’t before. 

Bare feet on the cobblestone path, you looked around the backyard. It wasn’t overgrown by any means, but it was far from well kept. There was a fairly new laundry tree with a basket attached, most likely holding clothes pins. Shrubs and bushes needed tending, empty flowerbeds were scattered around, some seemed to have the shy beginnings of plants. A promise of something to come. There was a rickety wooden arch just back from the center of the garden, white paint nearly completely worn off, vines holding it together. In the middle of the yard sat a fountain in disrepair. Whoever had lived here before must have loved their garden. As you walked, you noticed smaller details. There were four small stone benches around the fountain. The cobblestone path made a circle around the fountain, four paths leading to it. The benches sat on the grass between the paths.   
One bench had a heart and initials carved into it. Finger dragging across it, it felt smooth, worn by time.

Bench feeling sturdy, you sat facing the house. The windowed walls to the pool could use a cleaning. More of the vines, you squinted, maybe branches, climbed up the side of the house, others venturing to the windows that enclosed the pool. You could smell the soil. Rich. Empty, but not for long. 

The house was empty, even with the additional furniture. You went upstairs and grabbed the Sears catalogue from the bag on the closet floor. Still no sign of Papa when you went back downstairs. 

Curled in one of the new chairs, you flipped through the pages, pencil in hand. You marked some suits for whenever you got to go back home. You flipped through the furniture and circled a dining table with matching chairs. Tired eyes threatened to close. You turned the lamp on beside you. The catalogue fell with a thud as you dozed off. 

When you woke up from your nap, you noticed the house smelled of the picnic leftovers. You entered the kitchen to see Papa washing his plate. You grabbed a serving and sat at the kitchen table. Papa put away his dishes and left without so much as a word. You ate again in silence. 

Papa was gone by the time you woke up the next day. The car was gone too, checking downstairs, most the boxes were collapsed or missing. Assorted garden ornaments lay on the floor, most likely the items used to cover during the shipments. Hands on your hips, you made a decision. 

A lone pink plastic flamingo sat on your front lawn.

You spent most of the day with your hands in the dirt, pulling weeds and moving debris, ensuring the perennials would have a good start in the coming weeks. You pulled a bucket from the garage as well as some hedge clippers and began trying to shape the shrubs a bit. Leaving a gap right at the base of each plant, you scattered the clippings around them, hoping they would break down and feed themselves. 

For lunch you had leftover potato salad and a sandwich you were sent home with as well as a glass of water. It tasted better since you had been working so hard. 

Before heading back outside, you gathered some of the laundry, and not wanting to mess up any of the new outfits, checked each tag. You set aside all of the undergarments to hand wash and pulled the clothes off the floor and into the basket. Once you had everything downstairs, you double sorted, ensuring none of the white shirts turned any other colour with the dye from something else. You loaded the whites first, noting some suspect stains on the back of a few of Papas undershirts. You sighed, at least they were easier to wash than the socks. 

When the machine started up, you stripped the beds. Once all the bedding you wanted to wash was downstairs, you filled the bucket up and grabbed the oldest rag you could find from the garage. Causing a nice sud with some dish soap, you set to work cleaning the benches. The stone was fairly smooth, but, not without its scratches. It was hard to guess the age, never mind the last time they had been washed by the amount of crud that came off of them. It took about an hour to get one almost fully cleaned. 

You returned inside to check the laundry. You stopped short when going to set the clothes into the dryer. Snagging the empty basket, you loaded the clothes into it, then, you reloaded the washer with the bed sheets. 

Dress shirts blowing in the breeze, you set onto the next bench. By the time you were done with that one, you were able to hang the next load on the line. You let the two other benches be, dumping the bucket of water over the two you had cleaned. Some water splashed onto your bare legs.

With the rest of the clothes in the washer, you filled one sink with some dish detergent and set to cleaning the undergarments. The nylon had a strange texture when it was wet, like an extremely tight woven fishing net made of stringy hair. Had one thread come loose, you were sure it would feel abysmal. The whole house smelled of laundry. Fresh. The garters and bras were set to soak in the sink a moment. With a keen eye, you watched the way the washing machine rattled. First, you put your hand on it, then, you leaned up against it. You hurriedly grabbed an apple from the fridge, feeling tired, and moved to sit on the washing machine. It was paradise, skull rattling paradise. You began to eat, mouthfuls muffling other noises, as the washer continued its cycle. It reminded you of the nights you had spent at one of the laundromats you held interests in. You hummed in delight as the sweet tart taste of the apple met your tongue. The growing pit in your stomach was caused by hunger, but not for food. Washing machine, loud as it was, drowned out the sound of the front door opening, as well as the kitchen door. In a snap, your eyes met Papas, the lust in yours changing to embarrassment. Something you hadn’t seen before filled his. He cleared his throat as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You slipped down from the still shaking washer, he walked towards the sink. 

“Wait!” you urged, apple core slipping from your hand as you reached out. 

“I was just going to help with the dishes.” He said, only turning his head slightly as he continued on his path.

“They aren’t dishes,” you told him, washer rumbling over your words.

“I can’t hear you,” he said, rolling his sleeves to reach in the sink.

“Don’t!” you called out, washer stopping before you could stall your next words, eyes clamped shut, “They’re my panties!” 

Papa didn’t seem to have a knee-jerk reaction. Instead, he pulled his hand back from the sink, not having had broken the waters surface. 

“I can finish this,” you assured, “go do whatever you do.” 

He didn’t even face you before he left. You threw the last load from the washer to the dryer. 

 

Once all the laundry was taken off the line, you double checked the instructions on pressing, though, given how un-wrinkled they had all been, you wondered if it mattered. You elected to only press a few items, hanging them up and lying them over the back of the couch afterwards.

All the items made the voyage back upstairs. Before you hung the clothes, you set them down on the bare bed. When you looked up, you noticed the vanity that now sat pressed to the wall next to the bathroom. Your reflection looked back at you, something was shocking about it that you couldn’t place. You made the king-sized bed. Beatrice’s words ran through your mind again. A sigh escaped you. You wondered if there was ever a time you hadn’t sighed so much. 

 

“We haven’t been blending in.” You barged in to the kitchen, Papa half way into a mouthful off food. His jaw moved slowly. His eyes stayed trained on his food. “Beatrice noticed we don’t sleep in the same room. Now I figure if we just pretend to go to sleep at the same time we should be good.” 

Papa finished his bite. “Okay, dinner is on the stove.” He went right back to eating. 

You ate dinner, you pretended to go to bed together, Papa left once he turned the lights out.


	10. Honeymoon stages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here u go

For the next two weeks, you continued the same routine. Eat, garden, lunch, other chores, dinner, tv, sleep, repeat. It was awful. A break was nice every now and again but not when it stopped you from doing what you loved. It was evident, especially now, how dangerous your profession was, yet, you missed it. You missed the late nights, the not knowing, the sense of adventure. Here it was dull, it was dreary, the times you felt lonely there were passing, here, it was crushing. Papa had hardly spared a word the entire time. 

You practically ran to the phone when it rang, desperate to hear a familiar voice. This life was no prison, yet, you felt like a wild animal placed in a zoo. The gash in your head had properly sealed, it would scar, no doubt, but now you didn’t need the bandage on top of it. 

You missed the ghouls, you missed how they knew you, the real you. No one here knew you, not for who you were. The one who had a chance at it seemed not to care.

You didn’t miss being feared, you missed being respected. It was hard to stomach how the men here treated people, like they were an afterthought or an item. 

The guilt of surviving came back in waves, sometimes you would just freeze up, other times you would shake, sometimes tears would fall unnoticed until they hit your hand or you saw a mirror. 

No one saw Copia coming, but, you should have. Every day of those two weeks in your open isolation you thought about it. 

After the two weeks passed, the phone rang, finally a familiar voice. 

“Arnie?” your voice shook. 

“Yeah, the one and only.” He said, “How are you?”

“Why did you call?” you rushed, anxious to hear any news he had to offer.

“Glad to hear, I’m fine thanks for asking. Anyway, I was just calling to say, and sorry for the short notice, but, you’re needed somewhere tomorrow and-“

“Oh thank goodness, fuck me, I’ve been dying to get out of here-“

“Hold your horses.” Arnie said abruptly, “Get a pen and paper.” 

“Of course, yeah,” you said, tangling yourself in the phone line as you scrambled to the foyer to grab the pencil and paper out of your purse. “Got it.”

“It’s just out of town, Maple Wood, nice hotel, the opposite way that we came in, just off the highway.” You scribbled notes as Arnie spoke. “Now check in under Walter Roberts, they’ll give you the keys no problem. Don’t forget to pack for the night.”

“Won’t they find it a bit odd that I’m checking in under his name by myself?”

“Well, you won’t be by yourself.”

“Arnie, what do you mean?” 

“Papa is going with you, you both have to be there.” Arnie clarified, much to your dismay. You stood silent, staring at the notepad. “Check in between five and six.” 

The line went dead. 

The marks on the notepad teased you. 

You sighed.

Papa walked in, peered at the notepad. 

“Who was on the phone?” 

“Arnie.”

“What did he say?”

“We have to meet him tomorrow,” you tapped the note with your pencil, “here.”

Papa leaned in close, reading over your shoulder. You could smell the sandalwood of his aftershave. It was hard to deny how much you missed being this close to people. The feeling was made more apparent as the scent moved. You stood alone, the hinges on the kitchen doors squeaked. 

 

You packed not long before you had to leave. Papa had packed the night before. You each used a small suitcase from the overhead in the garage. They didn’t have nametags. 

Yours was a pastel purple colour, hardcase, light weight. You sat on the bed to think a moment. The chance someone saw you in your sleepwear was slim, but, you didn’t want to chance it. Instead of the men’s pajamas you had become accustomed to, you packed one of the nightgowns from your side of the closet. The least frilly of the bunch, it still had a sheer overlay to it, it swooshed as you moved it. Thinking better, you added a pair of sleep pants to the mix, just in case. A plain dress would do, not wanting to wash the garter belt overnight, you packed the girdle as well as a fresh bra and panties. A bit self-conscious, you moved the dress over the other clothes. 

Irene sat weeding the small garden she had bordering her house. Even from the distance, you could tell she was confused by the suitcases Papa was loading into the car’s back seat. 

“Walt and I are taking that honeymoon Beatrice recommended!” you yelled over before climbing into the passenger’s seat of the car. As fast as you could, you rolled down the window. The car started and began to roll at Papa’s command. “Tell Norma and Bea we should be back tomorrow! See you soon!” You waved, practically hanging out of the car. 

Irene waved back and nodded as the car turned onto the street. 

“Did you call me Walt?” Papa asked when you sat fully down. 

“Yes,” you replied, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “I did.” 

Papa kept his eyes on the road.

 

The hotel was bigger than you anticipated. It stood tall and proud, looking larger due to the lack of nearby buildings. A green carpet lead into it, canopy over the walkway, a valet parked the car after you grabbed your bags, declining the bellhops offer. The rotating door lead to a large foyer, wood paneled check in desks stood to the right, elevators directly ahead. A fountain was in the middle of the floor, the statue in it held tiny cherubs. To the left was the entrance to the connected restaurant and dance floor. Papa lead the way over to the check in. He signed the ledger with the fake name, the room had already been paid for. Turning briefly, the person in the red jacket retrieved the room keys from the wall behind them. 

“Happy Honeymooning” said the attendant to your surprise as they slid the keys across the desk.

“Thank you.” You and Papa said in unison, uncertainty tinging both your tones.

The elevator attendant checked your key number before pressing the button. He too congratulated you on your honeymoon. You understood why when you unlocked the hotel room door.

Before you stood a room lavished in pinks and reds. In the far-right corner sat a heart shaped hot tub, white curtain pulled back, drained, but easy to fill based on the shiny silver   
faucets. This however, was not to say that the room was big, in fact, it only had one bed. 

It only had one bed.

You looked at the key in your hand and its heart shaped tag, then to Papa’s key, then to yours again. They had the same room number. 

Papa walked in and set the bags on the bed, then, walked into the washroom. When he walked back out, his face was wet, tie loosened. You took your turn in the washroom. It was pink. The whole bathroom was pink. It didn’t have a shower. You looked through your purse, put on some lipstick and rouge, and double checked your hair. You didn’t think the hotel would be this nice. 

When you got out of the half bath, you saw Papa pacing with the phone to his ear. After a moment, he thanked whoever was on the other end and put it back on the nightstand. 

“We’ve been summoned.” He said, tightening his tie, looking straight up. You ignored his strange act and double checked you had your key in your purse before heading out the door, Papa followed suit. 

The elevator operator seemed a bit surprised to see you.

“Sorry,” he said, looking straight forward, “its not often people walk right back out of, what I mean is, um, I-“

“It’s alright.” Papa interrupted. “We have a dinner date.” 

The elevator operator released a breath as the elevator dinged, signaling your stop. 

The lounge was nice, the lighting dim but romantic. A stage stood at the far end, past the dancefloor. It had a glittering silver tinsel backdrop with a small band playing. A fair number of patrons were scattered around, more at the bar than anything, it must be cocktail hour. 

Spotting you, one of the waiters guided you to a booth in the back. There sat a ghoul, a ghoul with a glamour, but a ghoul none the less. Papa obviously recognized them, a soft look finding his face when the waiter left. 

“Ocean” Papa said, “you work for Arnie now?”

“With.” The ghoul corrected, the glamour looking unnatural in the dim light. 

“Good for you.” Papa congratulated.

“Care for a seat, Mr and Mrs Roberts?” A hiss of sarcasm escaped with their words.

“So you’ve heard,” Papa huffed, guiding you into the booth. He himself took a seat beside you, keeping a bit of space.

“Trouble in Paradise?” the ghoul questioned, pulling a cigarette holder from their suit jacket. 

“Har har” you sassed. The ghoul smiled, cigarette hanging limp from their lip as they patted themselves, looking for their matchbook. You rummaged through your handbag a moment before offering the flame from your lighter. 

“Thanks.” the ghoul spoke from the corner of their mouth. Adjusting the cigarette with their lips, they perked it up to meet the flame, taking a few puffs before exhaling and grabbing it between their pointer and middle fingers.

“So?” Papa asked.

“Right to business then. Here.” The ghoul pulled two small jewelry boxes from their coat, sliding them across the table. You and Papa each opened one. In yours stood a plain wedding band, scattered lights hitting it nicely. It was obviously not your size. You looked to Papa. He held a set of rings between his fingers. Without an instant to react, he gently took your hand and slipped the rings on your ring finger. In shock, you looked at your hand. The rings were wonderful. Art deco style, diamonds expertly placed, a perfect fit. 

Papa offered you his own hand, you slipped the ring onto his finger. 

“Aw, how sweet, I got the boxes mixed up, didn’t expect that.” The ghoul took another drag. You blushed. In the dark lighting, if you hadn’t known better, you would have thought   
Papa’s ears were a little red. “Anyway, Rose, I’m going to have to ask you to excuse yourself in a minute, before I do, I heard from Dewdrop someone was giving you a bit of trouble?”

“Oh, just one of my friend’s husbands. He gave me the up and down right in front of her. What a pig. Luckily, I’ve been able to avoid him for the most part. He’s a pain, just ask my dear husband here.” You joked, patting Papas arm with the back of your hand. This seemed to startle him. You eyed him a moment. “Would you let me out?” 

“Of course,” he said, sliding out and offering you a hand.

“I’ll be at the bar, take your time.” You said to the two before taking your leave.

“They sure look different huh?” Ocean said to Papa as you walked away. 

“Unexpected.” Papa said, his voice fading as the band grew louder.

 

Taking a seat at the bar, a waitress quickly approached you. Her hair was tied up nicely, she placed a napkin on the bar for you. 

“What’ll it be?” 

“What would you recommend?” 

“Just about anything but that man over there, I saw him here two weeks ago.” Her head motioned to the booth Papa sat in.

“Oh?” you inquired, not caring if it was any of your business.

“Yeah, said he was just passing through, stopping for a drink, he slept with one of my friends and never called her. She’s been seething ever since, wants to give him a piece of her mind.” The waitress murmured just loud enough for you to hear it. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” You said, trying to seem a bit resigned. 

“Better now than…” you watched as the waitress’s eyes dropped to your hand. Your eyes followed. The diamonds sparkled. “…I am so sorry…just pick something, I’ll keep them flowing.”

“Oh, no, it’s better to know, and thank you, how does Gin and Sin sound?”

 

You sat at the bar a good while listening to the band before Papa got up from the booth. He nodded to you as he left, you joined the ghoul. 

“You know Pa-Walter had to do a run then?” The ghoul started.

“Yep, almost got caught doing it. Nosey neighbors.” 

“Unfortunate considering you’ll be there at least another couple months, possibly more…”

“Pardon me?” 

“Oh, I think Arnie does this on purpose,” the ghoul ashed their cigarette into the ebony ash tray they had in front of them. “You won’t be out of there for at least two more months.”

“Fuck.” You said plainly. 

“Why don’t you order some food, Papa did, we have plenty to go over.” 

 

The remnants of your dinner, being only the bones, lay on the plate. The steamed mixed vegetables as a side offset the heavier garlic mashed potatoes. One held a slight crunch, the other seemed to melt the moment they hit your tongue. Both were obviously fresh. The chicken had definitely been the centerpiece though. It took every bit of self-control you had not to suck the remaining pieces clean off the bone, most pieces had fallen off on their own. It had been lightly salted and peppered, a hint of rosemary and lemon shone through. The crisp parts on the skin weren’t burnt, caramelized. It was nice to dine with someone else.

You wished the news had been as palatable as the meal. 

Your organization was holding on, but, the growth it had been experiencing the past few years had been forced to slow in light of recent events. It wasn’t the worst news you could have gotten, and yet, it stung. Weaving back in and out of the intricacies of the events made you woozy, perhaps the drinks you had consumed before you ate added to the effect. You looked down at the chicken bones on your plate and back up at the ghoul. For a water element, they sure smoked a lot. 

“Anything else?” the waitress said, gathering your plate and utensils. “Dessert?”

You looked to the ghoul, wondering if they had had anything more than cigarettes. 

“One scoop of ice-cream for my friend please,” you replied. The ghoul looked a bit thrown off but sat up a little straighter, smiling at the waitress before she left.

“Thanks,” the ghoul chirped. “By the way, thanks for not killing him yet. I’m fond of that old man.”

“He’s the only company I’ve got” you chuckled, “besides, hard to kill him when he avoids me like the plague.”

“Odd…” the ghoul trailed. As you spotted the waitress coming back, you motioned your head a little. Ocean began to beam. When the ice-cream was placed in front of them, you could practically smell the sea, the excitement messing with the bounds of the concealing magic. They nodded graciously before the waitress left. Snatching the large spoon from the resting place, they dug in.

“Anything else?” you inquired, the ghoul seeming to notice the outside world only at your words. 

“Oh, no, that’s all. You may get a call to help with a run or two but nothing big. Enjoy yourself.”

“How much do I owe you?” 

“Nothing. You were invited out so I’m paying.”

“Thank you. I better make sure my husband isn’t getting into too much trouble.” You pushed yourself from the booth, eyes rolling to emphasize the husband comment. 

“Happy honeymooning,” the ghoul teased, shoveling another mountain of the frozen treat into their mouth. Grin spreading your own lips, you rubbed your forehead. 

 

“Knock knock darling husband” you snickered, opening the door to the suite. 

The room smelled like lavender bath salts. Closing the door behind you, the scent became more potent. 

“I didn’t expect you back so soon…” Papa spoke from the heart shaped tub, jets on full blast. The clock radio functioned as a radio for now.

“Is that a handprint on your face?” you guffawed.

“Did you drink half the bar?” he shot back.

“Did you pack a swimsuit?”

“One of those questions has a different answer than the previous two.”

“Aw, gross.” You declared as you sat on the bed, kicking your shoes off. 

“You aren’t too easy on the eyes yourself.” Papa defended, arms spread across the back of the tub as he lounged. He winced as he adjusted. 

“Who slapped you?” you asked, unceremoniously flopping on the bed. Hand subconsciously messing with your hair. 

“Someone I forgot to call.”

“Learn your lesson?”

Papa shrugged, “Never do.”

“Hopefully it’s gone by morning, I don’t wanna have to make up any more stories. There is only one bed in here.” You blabbered, intoxication becoming more evident.

“Very keen observation.”

“Ocean planned this…I don’t like sleeping with people.”

“That explains your attitude.”

“Oh fuck you, you’re mean.”

“Do you use that word so much because you like the way it rolls off your tongue or because you wish something else would?”

“I understand that being horny all the time is kind of your thing, believe me, I’ve heard about you, but could you knock it off for a bit please? I’m not interested in you. You’re my competition.”

“Understood.” Papa stated. “Would you be more comfortable if I got out of the tub?”

“Yeah, that’s very considerate of you.” You regretted your words immediately. Papa turned off the jets and began to climb out of the pool. He had indeed, not packed a swimsuit. 

Across the cozy room he stood, a feared crime boss, respected business man, completely nude. He was an impressive man, not just in his professional life. The way he carried himself, his stature, for a man you were used to seeing in business suits, he held himself remarkably well in his birthday suit. Body hair peppered his chest, growing thicker as it continued down, a fully formed treasure trail plotting the course down his belly. He turned to grab a red towel off the wall. 

You couldn’t help but stare.

“Papa?” you spoke, quieter now that the hot tubs jets were off.

“Yes?” he drew out slowly, the same way he pulled the towel off the rack.

“What the hell happened to your back?”

“I was lightly shot.” He stated, wrapping the towel around his waist. 

“Oh…okay…” you trailed, processing the new information. Papa walked closer. “You were shot?” you repeated.

“Lightly.” He assured. 

You patted the velvety blanket covering the bed beside you. Papa looked at you with something close to fascination, he held the towel around his waist as he came across the room,he sat down facing away. You sat back up, letting a finger press to his spine. It trailed along the muscle line as you watched the muscles seize beneath it, much the way a cat’s does. His skin was soft, still damp from the bath he had been soaking in. You moved to the pace of the songs fluttering from the radio. You let yourself hum, inhibitions lower than usual. 

“You’ve been replacing the bandage yourself?” you asked.

“I have.” He confirmed, back becoming more rigid. 

“You’ve been doing a really bad job, it’s gonna be a gnarly scar. Got a fresh dressing?”

“Slide me my bag.” Papa unlatched his bag as soon as you slid it over. From the elastic part to hold toiletries, he pulled the adhesive strips and bandages. 

“I’ll set it this time, you shouldn’t need to freshen it up much more after, maybe stick to showers and a washcloth for a bit to be safe.” You instructed, walking to the washroom to wash your own hands before fooling with anything. “You can slip into your pjs in the meantime.” 

“I wasn’t made aware we would be sharing a room.” Papa said. 

“And?” you said, drying your hands and grabbing a few tissues from the box on the counter. Realization dawned on you. “I have a pair of pajama pants you can borrow.”

“What’ll you wear?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to not think about.” You sat back down on the bed. Tissues dabbed the remaining moisture around the patch of decimated skin. You applied a bit of moisturizer you saw hanging in the toiletries pouch of Papa’s suitcase. After all was said and done, the dressing looked a lot nicer. 

Papa moved his shoulder slightly, making sure the adhesive tape wouldn’t pull. Satisfied, he turned to face you. It struck you how close he was. Lavender filled the room and his eyes filled you with something else. You broke eye contact, turning to your own suitcase to grab the pajama bottoms. You flung them at him, inebriation fogging your judgment on how far he was. Speedily you snapped the suitcase back shut and brought it into the bathroom with you, door closing almost as fast as the suitcase had. 

 

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The nightie looked better on than it had on the hanger, which said a lot. It was plain but beautiful, flowing more now that it had access to air, and clinging now that it had flesh so close. The soft tones were a high contrast to the bold red room. Scrubbed and cleaned, more sober, you stepped back into the room. 

The only light in the room were the two bedside lamps. Papa lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked at you a moment, eyes drifting, then back at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and moved under the blankets. You set the suitcase down at the foot of the bed, moving to crawl up the bed itself. Papa only seemed interested in the ceiling as you adjusted a pillow and pulled back the blankets on your side. 

“What are you doing Rose?” Papa asked, eyes staying trained up.

“I’m getting my bed ready dear Walter.” You continued your adjustments. 

“I’m not going to move.” He deadpanned.

 

“I would hope not, you should keep your... personality... to yourself.” You replied, turning the lamp on your side out. Tucked in, you looked at the ceiling, hoping to count dots or follow a pattern. Mirrors. You saw yourself in bed with Papa Emeritus himself. You closed your eyes and rolled to your side, turning your back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a fiend


	11. Girls Lunch

Eyes fluttering, you felt something stiff pressed to your back. Eyes rolling even before they opened all the way. Eyes upon you. 

Searing eyes of a rat with heterochromia.

The click of a gun cocking. 

You were back in the hall, seated at a long table, you looked down at your food. A black dot appeared. It grew. It festered. It opened up like the mouth of a frail starving bird, spreading further the more you tried to ignore it. Squeaking. Someone stood talking. No one noticed the tiny black holes appearing before them. The chattering, the scratching, the hissing. 

A pink nose stuck out from the hole, whiskers, bloodshot eyes, paws clawing at the edges as your food disappeared into the darkness. Someone kept talking. Your eyes darted around. No one else noticed. Why didn’t they notice? Why weren’t you moving? The rats came in twos, threes, fives, dozens, pouring onto the table, screaming. You couldn’t scream. You felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressed to the side of your head. The room disappeared. Someone pushed you. The trigger was pulled.

You woke up in a cold sweat and a sea of red blankets, alone. 

Breathing heavy, the darkness closing in on you, you scrambled for the bedside lamp. Your lungs stung the way your eyes did. Ragged breaths yanked at you. You could feel something crawling on your arm, unable to yell you swatted at it, falling from the bed with a clatter, legs kicking blindly, nightgown tearing with an awful crunching noise in the struggle. 

You tried again for the lamp switch. It was all too bright. A strand of hair tickled your arm. You held your face in your hands, still struggling to steady your breath. 

There was a click as the bathroom door opened, Papa stood, confused, looking down at you. The reflection of light off the pink surfaces gave him an eerie glow. Chest heaving, you stared him down. You may be crumbling but you refused to let him feel superior. His eyes weren’t on yours, rather, further down. 

You could feel the way the fabric pooled around you, how it felt looser, how one leg felt bare all the way up to your mid-thigh. It didn’t just feel that way.

Papa was fully dressed.

“Their breakfast is starting soon,” he announced, looking to the door.

“Fine.” You said coolly.

He stepped over you and left. Your sleepwear clung uncomfortably to you due to your sweat. 

Electing not to try the heart shaped tub, you washed up some with a facecloth in the bathroom. The wash cloth was soft on your skin, forgiving. Bruises had already begun to   
bloom from the fall. You ached all over. Getting dressed was not a small event. You had avoided the girdle as long as you could so you weren’t practiced with it. At least the stockings were familiar. The plain dress slipped on more easily thanks to the girdle. 

Once downstairs, you were met with a dilemma. Apart from picking what to eat, there was the problem of figuring out where to sit. Thinking, you twisted the strap of your purse.   
Grabbing a few things from the buffet, you swallowed your doubt and moved to sit across from Papa. 

His plate was empty and from the looks of things, his coffee cup was almost there. You sat without a word. Sitting proved painful after the tumble you had taken. Wincing was not voluntary but hard to mask. 

Papa drained the last of his coffee and got up. You started in on your meal. As you were finishing, Papa returned, bags in hand. 

You left the hotel without incident. You returned to the house with some incident. 

You hardly had time enough to open the car door before Beatrice was half down her driveway. 

“Rose!” Beatrice said, scurrying across the street, “Rose!” she stopped briefly to catch her breath. “Rose, you’re back! Meet me at my house for lunch, say 1130, see you then.” Her   
words barely escaping between huffs. “Oh, hello Walter.” She said to Papa, waving, straightening slightly though still obviously out of breath. Papa finished getting out of the car and grabbed the luggage from the back seat, as he moved around the rear of the car, he held one of the bags up to wave. Unfortunately for him, it hadn’t been fastened quite right. 

As the latch let loose, the contents on the bag fell out. You jumped into action gathering the underwear and wrapping it in the dress from the day prior. Papa set the case down.   
You set them in. Beatrice reached for the nightgown and quickly handed it to you. You turned to thank her, but, she was already headed back to her house. 

You closed the luggage back up and Papa lifted it. You moved ahead of him to get the front door. 

He set you bag down before heading upstairs with his own. 

Deciding to unpack later, you elected to sit in the garden. Small blossoms had begun their voyage to bloom. The once dead looking vines climbing the house and the archway now held small leaves. The cool stone was a relief on the forming bruises. Two of the benches still sat unwashed, but, you figured maybe they should stay that way. 

The whole garden smelled of moist dirt and dew. You let your fingers drag across the bench you sat on as you admired the fountain. There was a patch of tilled earth just beyond the fountain you hadn’t payed any special attention to before, but now, you realized it held no sprouts. It wasn’t overly large, but, it was the largest of the broken-up plots. It looked sad, barren while the rest held promise of life. For some reason, it began to break your heart. You turned away. 

 

Arriving at Beatrice’s door, she wasted no time scooting you in. There was at least one picture on every wall. Some posed and stiff, others where the subjects were obviously caught off guard. You slowed slightly and she wrapped her arm around your, pausing when she saw the picture you looked at. 

“That was from our wedding, Elmer absolutely insisted he wear his uniform, at first I was fuming,” she sighed looking at the photo, “in the end, he did look awful handsome in it. Come on to the dinning room.” With arms intertwined, she guided you to the dining room. 

Two of the seats at the table had already been filled by Irene and Norma. They had grins on their faces. Nervously, you looked back at Beatrice. Her face was pulled in the biggest grin of the bunch. She pulled out a chair at the head of the table before taking a seat at a side chair. Everyone eyed you. You sat. You winced. Their grins turned to smiles. 

“How are you?” Norma asked.

“I’m alright…how are you?” you answered. 

“We are fine…so...how was your night?” Norma asked, all the women leaned forward in their seats. 

“Fine I suppose…”

“You look a little tired…busy trip?” Norma inquired, all the women skootched their chairs closer.

“It was a little restless but otherwise alright…why do you ask?” you hesitated, unsure if they knew about the nature of the trip.

“Bea, Nor, maybe Rose isn’t comfortable…sharing…” Irene whispered, nervously looking between the two. Both nodded before turning their head back to you. 

“Rose, if we are making you uncomfortable just let us know. I know where you’re from you may not talk about this kind of thing, it is a very personal issue, but, us three have kind of…well…we are very open with each other. We haven’t known you long but we want to include you in conversations. We are all adults here.” Norma kept her voice solid and steady, re-assuring. “All that being said, if you want to keep your and Walter’s personal life, well, personal, that is fine with us. We will respect it. The door is always open.” 

“Oh…well thank you…” you said, still a bit foggy on the subject.

Beatrice took your hand in hers, meeting your eyes. “I’m glad you took the time to go on the honeymoon, no matter how short, even if you don’t share anything.”

Right, it was a honeymoon, that was what you had told Irene. You looked to Irene who gave a kind nod.

“Well…the hotel was nice…” you started, the women’s eagerness to listen re-appeared. You had to think quick. You were tired of lying but you didn’t want to disappoint. “The room was very nice, it had one of those heart shaped hot tubs…”

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Beatrice exclaimed. “You know, I’m glad Elm and I didn’t have one on ours because, never mind, sorry, keep talking, did you use the tub? Was it wonderful?”

“It sure was something, built in jets, I don’t think I’m going to be able to forget it easily…” Norma and Beatrice exchanged a knowing glance.

“Pardon me, may I use your washroom?” you said, needing to get off your bruised butt.

“Oh! Yes! Do you want me to fix anything up while you’re in there?” Beatrice shot out of her chair, “Any of you want coffee? Tea? What an awful host I am! The washroom is just upstairs, first door when you get up there. Anything I can get in the mean time?” 

“Some water might be nice,” you smiled, raising from your seat. “I’ll be right back.”

 

You whined, looking up at the ceiling. You had been stuck in the washroom for some time now. Your girdle had gotten tangled at the back. You hadn’t worn it enough to know how to untangle it. You paced.

A knock came at the eggshell door. 

“Hey Rose, you alright in there?” Beatrice called.

“Need anything?” You heard Norma speak next.

Smart money said Irene was there too.

“My uh, my girdle,” you stammered “it got caught up, I can’t straighten it around.”

“Want some help?” Norma offered. 

You rested against the sink. 

“Yes please” you resigned.

Norma swooped into the room, leaving the other two in the hall. She moved to her knees before you, checking each piece in the front of the girdle. Content, she motioned for you to turn your back to her. When you did, she audibly gasped.

“You two okay?” Beatrice’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yes.” Norma responded. She looked up at you, eyes cold. “Rose.” Her tone was serious. “What are these?” You bent slightly to look at your leg where Norma was pointing. The   
bruises were more apparent than you thought.

“Oh, those are um…”

“Rose, do you need to get out of that house?” Norma spoke again, same robotic coldness dripping from her words.

“Oh, no, Norma,” you sputtered, “they are not from what you think.”

“Rose you can tell me if-“

“Norma they’re from our honeymooning.” You interrupted. Norma’s mouth dropped open, then returned to a grin. She stood, not bothering to fix the girdle, and moved to the door. The knob turned easily between her fingers. Beatrice and Irene practically fell into the room when the door opened.

Both moved closer as they saw the purple marks. 

“I knew it…” Beatrice asserted, voice low, “I saw that nightgown and I knew…”

“Seems like Rose isn’t so shy after all.” Norma agreed.

“I’ll grab a bag of frozen peas, lets go downstairs and sit back at the table.” Beatrice said gleefully. 

“Um.” You interrupted the now leaving ladies. “Would someone help me untangle this please?” 

 

Sitting was much more enjoyable with a warm drink and frozen peas wrapped in a towel to sit on. 

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Norma asked.

“Oh, Walter’s back is much worse.” You said without thinking. You peered over the teacup mid sip. Everyone seemed delighted you were opening up. 

“Do you mind if we pry a bit?” Irene asked, obviously warming up to you. 

“Pry away, I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

“Other than…well…the obvious…what happened?” Beatrice asked. She sat with her elbows on the table and chin resting in her hands like a schoolgirl. 

“Well…there was the tub first, it was surprising…then, well, he moved over to the bed, and then we got ready to go to sleep, when I got all tucked in there was the realization the ceiling was mirrored…”

At the mention of the mirrored ceiling, Norma made an impressed face. 

You continued, “And then later on things got intense and I wound up falling off the bed...”

Irene choked on her glass of milk, milk shot from her nose. Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.

“Oh Rose, you’re a riot, for Irene’s sake we better hold off for now, one day I hope you’ll share the details, it doesn’t sound too much unlike El and I, our honeymoon that is, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him, we went through a lot of Crisco that is for sure.” Beatrice bumbled.

“Crisco…” you mumbled to yourself.


	12. Planting

It had been about a week since the “honeymoon” and you were still unsettled by the news. At least two more months you would be stuck here. 

You thought about how much you were missing back home, left only to wonder what was happening. It could easily be that the ghoul had lied to you and everything was up in flames. It could easily be everything just folded. It could even be that Copia had taken over your operation. You shuddered at the thought. The weight of the ring on your finger was still foreign. 

You heard a clatter from the garage. Curiosity getting the better of you, you moved to investigate it. 

The door from the house to the garage was open. You were greeted by a gruff rumble of swears. 

“Papa? What are you-“ turning the corner and seeing the man tangled with the once upright gardening tools, you answered your own question. Back leaning on the doorframe, you watched as he floundered. Once his composure was regained, he simply grabbed the tools and cut around you. Being so close for a moment felt unfamiliar, the buttons of his white dress shirt practically brushing up against you. It had become common place now for those thin sleeves to be rolled up past his elbows. Eyes trailing after him, you watched him walk out the back door. 

Papa came back in, grabbed a cup, then left again. Vexed, you peered out the window. At each spot in the backyard that held not a sprout nor existing plant, he would gather a bit of dirt. Brushing off his knees, he re-entered the house, making a b-line for the kitchen. You followed. 

Papa pulled out the baking soda, vinegar, a measuring cup and two other cups. Adding a few spoonfuls into the first new cup, then, he measured out half a cup of vinegar, adding it to the dirt. His shoulders flexed under the thin shirt as he moved, more so when he braced himself against the countertop. A deep breath. 

He left his experiment on the counter, the muddy mixture looked like a storm puddle. He left the kitchen. You moved closer, wondering what the baking soda was for. When he returned, he had a bottle of water in his hand. Based on the oil that had long been dried on the side of it, you guessed it was from the garage. You leaned against the wall to watch.

In the second cup he had grabbed, he added again a few spoonfuls of soil. Next, opened the bottle and slowly added the water. Appearing happy with his new mud, he swished the glass a bit. A pause to adjust his sleeves. He grabbed the small box of baking soda. Sprinkling it, you both watched as the mixture began to fizz. Papa smiled. 

“What was that?” you asked.

“Soil testing. If I’m going to be stuck here, I need something to do.”

 

You watched Papa as he set up his tiny gardens, the spots of dirt on his trousers becoming more apparent. He admired his handiwork before going back to the garage. He retuned with wooden stakes and some chicken wire. He set up some boundaries. To your surprise, he walked to you next. 

“Do you have errands to run tomorrow?” He said, wiping his hands on each other.

“No?” you responded, slightly surprised. 

“Good. I hate to do this but given that I’ve missed the window to do it myself, we will head to the nursery.”

“Pardon me?” 

“I prefer to raise my own, but, given the timing, someone else’s will have to do.” Papa gave you a curious look then shook his head. “Tomato plants.”

“Oh,” you sighed. 

 

You set out for the plant nursery the next day, Papa obviously not pleased to have to resort to it. They had put out an ad in the paper, the only way you had known it had even existed. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but the storefront was small. Hardly marked. The bell chimed as the door swung open. 

Upon entering the store, you noted the smell of fresh herbs. Sitting in the windowsill to your right they sat, perfect little patterned pots holding them. 

“Hello.” A weary voice called, your head turned as a man, aided by a walking stick, came through the back door. “Looking for anything?” 

“Tomato plants, if you have any for sale.” Papa spoke.

“Have you cared for them before?” The shopkeep questioned, squinting slightly. 

“Since I was seven. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I didn’t get a chance to raise my own this year.”

You looked between Papa and the shopkeep. Papa kept his eyes on him. The shopkeep looked at you then back to Papa.

“Have you too been married long?” 

“No.” Papa relied before you could. 

“I hope the marriage wasn’t what you were referring to. I would give anything for my Lavinia back. Treasure each other while you can.” The man was hard to read, his face hardly changing. He looked between you two before turning back to the door through which he came. “Come on now, no point dilly dallying.” 

The greenhouse, though just through the door, seemed like a completely different world. Warm, smelling of earth and greenery. A slight salty taste seeped into your mouth when you inhaled the fresh air. 

The shopkeeper hobbled through the rows of lush potted plants, occasionally reaching to stroke an outstretched leaf. His eyes softened when he looked at his plants. Near the end of the line he stopped, faced you and Papa, and stepped to the side. 

“They’ve been hardened, ready to plant any time you want them in the ground. Take your pick.” 

Papa nodded, stepping forward before crouching down and inspecting the plants. Your thumb swiveled your ring as you looked over Papa’s shoulder. The plants weren’t as tall as you anticipated, but, they were obviously well cared for. Papa looked to the older man a moment, and when the older man gave him a nod, Papa adjusted his sleeve and moved his arm closer to one of the pots. His index traced the top layer of the dirt, gliding as specks collected at his finger tip. Contemplating for but a second prior, his finger pushed into the soil near the base of the plant. He was gentle, delicate even, as he prodded a bit deeper. He twisted his finger slightly. He rested. He withdrew, inspecting the digit before smelling the soiled finger. Papa stood up, brushing you as he did. Apparently, neither of you realized how you had moved closer. 

“They are wonderful, you have done a superb job.” Papa complimented. “If I may, I would like seven of the regular plants as well as two of the cherry tomatoes.”

“Very well, anything else?” The shopkeep asked, nodding to Papa and turning to you. 

“Chicken wire and some stakes if you could part with some.” Papa spoke again. 

“Anything for you?” The shopkeeper asked, fully facing you now. Papa looked him over. 

“Not today, thank you.” You smiled. The shopkeeper nodded before disappearing behind another row of plants. 

“Seven full size tomato plants?” you questioned Papa.

“Yes,” he sighed, “Only a fraction of what I usually do, but, it will suffice.” 

You blinked in confusion before shaking your head. 

 

The plants had ridden in the back seat on the way back, except the two baby tomato plants, which sat with you in the front seat. Other than brief mentions of where things needed to go, the two of you had hardly spoken. 

You tended to your plants and Papa tended to his. 

Pruning the bushes and watching them flourish became therapeutic. It felt like every plant had character. Some would wind where you thought they shouldn’t, others seemed shy, all relied on you. They reminded you of home. You shakily inhaled, the fresh smell of clipped plants soothing you only slightly. It was hard not to worry.

Sitting on one of the clean benches in the garden, you admired your handiwork. Though May was just beginning, the foundations of the garden looked great. Swiveling as you admired, your eyes landed on Papa. His back was to you. His dress shirt lay beside him, undershirt obviously damp with his efforts. His back was surprisingly toned even through the fabric. The bandage had been replaced, more for concealment than for healing. His muscles rippled as he moved. You remembered how they felt under your finger. You crossed your legs, leaning forward to watch. 

Papa was almost done transferring the plants to the earth. After each had been grounded, he used a stake to support it and some twine to secure it. His hands, covered in the earth he tended to, were deft. Each bit of twine secured in a double knot. 

It was hard not to stare as he drug the back of his hand across his forehead. Each of his moves was fluid. Entrancing. Meticulous.

His eyes met yours as he turned around. Dirt sat on his face from where he wiped away sweat. It was hard to tell who was more surprised. 

You cleared your throat and continued your survey of the garden. He returned to his work. 

 

It had been Papa’s turn to cook, leaving you unoccupied and bored. The television played as you lay on the couch, hardly paying attention. A knock came at the door. You practically flew for it. 

Behind it stood Irene, she wore a small smile and a baby pink dress. 

“Hello!” You greeted, “how are you? Come in, please.”

“Oh, thank you,” she spoke softly, stepping in the door “I’m having a Tupperware party next week, would you like to come?”

You led her to the living room and invited her to sit beside you on the couch. Irene let her eyes wander around the room. 

“I would love to, would you like a drink, some food maybe?” you practically blurted, happy to have someone around. 

“I’m alright, thank you.” She returned with a smile, drawing a hand across the cushion she sat on. 

“How rude! You haven’t been in here before! Would you like a tour?”

Irene nodded dreamily. 

You got back up and offered her a hand to assist her which she gladly accepted. The two of you embarked on the short tour around the house. 

Reaching the large empty room upstairs, Irene tilted her head a bit. 

“Do you have plans for this?”

“Not particularly, an office maybe? I was thinking I may need a hobby though…” you responded, looking at the empty space.

“Sewing?” she offered. You leaned against the wall a moment. Thinking back, most of the sewing you had done had been on people who had been bleeding out. 

“Maybe, I have wanted to write more again…”

Irene nodded. “I have some sewing stuff I won’t ever use, my mother’s…” she met your eyes “if you want it, it’s yours.” 

“Thank you, I think I’ll give it a shot, want me to pick it up now or?”

“Tupperware party” she said. 

“Of course, I’m looking forward to it.”

Irene’s eyes seemed to shine.

Though you had started in the living room, you saved the dining room for last. 

“And this is where we would host dinner parties if we had the sense to get a good dinner table.” You laughed, motioning at the empty space. Irene smiled at you, a full-fledged toothy smile. Her hand quickly covered it. You let yourself smile back at her. When the kitchen door opened, her smile disappeared completely and she looked at the ground. 

Papa stood in the doorway with another confused look on his face. 

“I didn’t realize we had company.” Papa spoke, the dirt on his face was still there. You tried not to giggle at it. He hadn’t replaced his shirt, the thin undershirt still the only thing separating his chest from the rest of the world. 

“I was just going…goodbye…” Irene said, turning to leave. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You said, following her quick footsteps, waving her off as she left. 

You huffed as you closed the door. 

 

Irene dropped by the day before the Tupperware party to remind you, but didn’t stay to chat. The entire week waiting for it, you tried to busy yourself with anything you could.   
You almost wished Papa didn’t end up with most of the chores. Almost. 

Everything seemed dull. No matter how much seasoning you added to your food, it still tasted bland, no matter how warm the shower was, it was still hardly a sensation. Even   
using the washer, when you weren’t interrupted, only held the sensation for a few minutes. 

At least the garden was doing well. Some plants were budding, others were blooming. Papa’s plots held promise as well. The vines on the glass walls enclosing the pool were fairly thick, they held the promise of many flowers. The pool was still slightly visible, still in good condition. Still.

Turning, you were met with the sight of your housemate tending to the garden. Working with only the undershirt on had become a common practice for him. Washing the dress shirts hadn’t become easier unfortunately, as the man used them for a knee pad when he knelt. The shirt would be moved along with the bucket he put the pulled weeds in. Every now and again he would grunt as he yanked a weed from the ground, but, his moves still seemed calculated. When he tended to the tomatoes it was if he was someone else.   
Gentle. Kind. He was tender to them. 

You thought back to home, how he was there. You scowled. You weren’t going to be deceived, not again.


	13. Tupperware Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> party hearty pals

Irene’s house was almost out of a catalogue. It was lovely, clean, almost too pristine. Even through the crowd of women, you could tell only a few personal items were around. 

Photos were scarce, but, that only aided the two above the mantel in catching your eye. 

You waded through the crowd, nodding at the women as you went. In a simple brass frame sat a picture of just under twenty girls, ages seeming slightly different but not far from each other, all in school uniforms. They all had simple smiles, save for one. You would think her face would split in two, the absolute definition of smiling ear to ear. Something was familiar about the girls around her. Squinting at the picture, someone walked up next to you. 

“We all went to prep school together.” The woman said matter of factly. 

“Ah.” You said, scanning the photo.

“That was the day we planted a whole garden of flowers. Do you garden at all?”

“I try,” you said, eyes still glued to the photo, “mainly flowers too. From what I’ve seen there should be a good many roses.”

“I see. You’re the one who just moved in, aren’t you?” her voice grew curious.

You turned a bit, leaning your shoulder on the mantel. The woman before you wore a pair of navy green women’s capri slacks, a short sleeve blouse, and a cocky grin. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, except for a strand that fell beside her face, hardly brushing her cheek. 

“Is it that obvious I’m new?” you chided. Something about her put you at ease. 

“Well,” she said, leaning with you, “everyone is new until they aren’t. Why roses?”

You shrugged. “They just kind of grew in. Have any favorite flowers? Or do you prefer vegetables?”

She grinned. “Vegetables have never really been my scene. Flowers are just, well, more like flowers. I’m partial to violets.”

“They are lovely flowers.” You replied, eyes wandering back to the photo. “You wouldn’t happen to be the one with that crown of violets, would you?”

“The very same,” the woman said, obviously impressed, “the name is Doris.”

“Rose.” You replied, extending a hand. You kept your eyes on Doris’. Doris dropped her eyes to your hand as she reached for it. Before you could shake, Beatrice practically threw   
herself between the two of you. 

“Ah, our old school photo, what a time, what a place.” She blurted. “You see the little frame next to it just right there, look, Irene in her little nurses outfit with-“ she paused to breath. “So, Rose, you’ve met Doris, how are you two getting along? You know Doris, Rose and her husband Walter moved in not too long ago if you would believe that.” 

Beatrice had obviously winded herself. Doris looked as though she had just remembered something. You hid your confusion with a polite smile. 

“So, you are married?” Doris said, no longer as relaxed as she had been. 

“Yeah,” you said, pointing at the rings on your finger. “Still getting used to it.”

“I understand,” Doris said, “I have a few people I have to get ‘round to, hope to see you soon.”

With that, Doris left you and Beatrice. 

“How is Walter?” Beatrice spoke, regaining her composure. 

“Fine, pre-occupied with gardening.”

“Research for his next book?” Beatrice inquired.

“Pardon?” you said, caught off guard.

“You said he was an author, right?”

“Oh, yes, of course, he writes. The gardening is just something he enjoys.” You toyed with your ring. Your head was bothering you a bit from the noise and smells of perfume and cigarettes mingling with the layout of food. 

“Do you need a seat?” Beatrice asked, hand moving to your shoulder.

“That’s probably a good call…”

Beatrice lead you to a pink couch. You settled quickly, plump cushions pulling you in. The room felt like it was spinning. Your head ached. 

“Everything alright?” Beatrice spoke with concern. 

“Yeah, fine.” You said curtly. You leaned forward a bit and rubbed your temples. 

“If you want me to get you anything, just let me know.” 

“Thank you.”

The room was bubbling but the couch was silent. For a moment anyway. 

“Hello Rose, wait, are you alright?” Norma said, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. 

“Hi, yeah, I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t.” Norma stated. “Bea, would you get Rose something to eat please? One of the tarts maybe?”

“I really don’t-“ you started.

“On it.” Beatrice said, disappearing in the sea of pattered fabrics. 

“What is it?” Norma questioned.

“My head and my stomach. Probably pressure change.”

“Ah, well, still have to take care of yourself. My Bill gets a real nasty ache in his leg when storms come around, old wounds you know.” She looked you over. 

“Speaking of husbands, I haven’t met Irene’s…is he not around?”

Norma’s face drained. “Um, well, you see,” she floundered “he is um…a salesman, very busy, travels a great deal, hardly ever um…a very busy man…” You had never seen Norma flounder like that. “Are you thirsty? I am. I’ll get you a drink?” 

You sat on the couch alone and confused in the crowd for half of a second before Beatrice returned. 

“Here you are.” She said, handing you a butter tart. You figured you might as well push your luck and ask her. 

“Beatrice, excuse me if it’s out of line, but where is Irene’s husband? I would hate to be rude and not introduce myself.” 

“Irene’s husband…” Beatrice trailed, lost in thought. “He is um, overseas, issues with um, things, and trying to keep things sorted, and you know how it is with traveling. Ha ha. How is the tart?” 

It was strange how neither of them seemed to know, and if they had, they didn’t want you to know. You took a bite of the tart and shrugged it off. 

The dough was perfectly flaky. Crisp. The filling was smooth on your tongue, practically dissolving. You were glad you held the small plate under it as you took a bite, crumbs falling to it. 

Norma returned and adjusted her skirt after handing your drink to Beatrice and taking a sip of her own. After you set the plate with what remained of the tart on your lap, Beatrice   
held the drink out to you. You thanked her and took a sip. Sweet but still able to burn the back of your throat. Your eyebrows raised slightly. Beatrice smiled. 

“Any better?” Norma inquired as your mouth left the glass.

“Yeah, thank you both. Just a little nauseous is all.” You replied, taking another sip of the drink. “If Irene’s husband isn’t to be talked about, I understand, no need to lie.” 

Beatrice and Norma’s head snapped to look at each other, breath obviously held tight in their chests. Norma shook her head slightly. Beatrice nodded. 

“Thank you for respecting that…” Norma spoke, “I know we pester you a lot so keeping something may seem strange…”

“Not a worry,” you said, face softening, “some things are better left unsaid. You don’t pester me by the way, it’s nice to have people to talk to.” 

“In that case, how did you and Walter meet?” Beatrice questioned, shifting giddily in her seat. 

“Work.” You said, remembering the first time you met the man. At the time you had been lower in the ranks, not part of his food chain obviously, but of the one you now ran. He dropped a line. You declined. He hit on the next person to walk in the room. 

“Oh,” Beatrice cooed, “an office romance.”

Norma greeted two women as one sat on the coffee table with her and the other joined you on the couch, on the other side of Beatrice. 

“Did you get along at first?” One of the new women spoke. You chuckled a bit. 

“We hardly spoke at first. He made a pass, I turned him down.” 

“You turned down Walter? Why?” Beatrice asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well, he was higher up than me…”

“Walter was your boss?!” Beatrice exclaimed. A few more curious ladies shuffled closer. 

“No!” you assured. “We were in different, um, departments. Besides, he had a bit of a reputation. There wasn’t any telling his intentions.” 

“Oh, a bit of a player then?” another lady chimed in.

“Yeah,” you thought back to the position he held “player is a good word.” The general chatter in the room was a bit quieter. “Eventually,” you continued, “we wound up in more or   
less in the same position, in different departments of course.”

“And then you fell in love?”

You laughed, “No, no, far from actually. There were certain projects we had to collaborate on, that’s when I realized just how proud and pig headed the man is. For awhile we were at each other’s throats…” you looked around at the slew of curious eyes now on you, “practically…” you amended.

Practically was a half-truth, there had been a point where you knew he was considering putting a hit on you and you him. Luckily, a common ally had offered each of you a better deal, a common ally who was no longer around. You thanked Arnie in your mind for keeping that spirit around. 

“Well, then how did you end up together?” Norma asked, puzzled. 

You took a deep breath, “One of the other…department…heads had brokered a deal for us which put us on somewhat agreeable terms. Things kind of swept us together at a company dinner.” Images of rats from your nightmare flashed before your eyes. You took a long slug from your drink. You felt the women’s eyes on you. 

“The company dinner was, eventful. There was a bit of a scene. Then, we um, wound up leaving together and before we knew it we were married.” The ladies exchanged looks. You pressed the cool glass to your forehead. “Sorry, I’m not feeling so well.” 

Norma looked absolutely shocked and a few women exchanged looks. 

“Oh, Rose, if I had known I wouldn’t have spurred on the sharing in public, especially if you are embarrassed by it or-“

“Embarrassed by what exactly?” you urged, confused by the change in the room. You wanted Norma meet your eyes, then look to your abdomen, then your eyes again, a look of empathy on her face. 

“Oh! Shit! No! I’m not knocked up or anything!” you burst. A few laughs came. You realized your words. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to swear!” 

The room practically erupted in laughter. 

“Honey, don’t fucking worry, about a quarter of us were military, another half overseas for aid, and the other quarter puts up with us.” Doris proclaimed “we’ve heard it all.” 

Surprised but not unhappy, you finished your tart. 

“You would not believe how happy I am that you are alright with swears,” Norma said, placing a hand on your knee. 

There was the sound of a fork tapping glass. Irene stood on a chair. 

“Hello everyone, if you don’t mind, I will show off the merchandise-“ Irene’s voice was interrupted by a wolf whistle from a woman in a red pencil skirt. She blushed. “w-well, um, if you would join me in the kitchen, I would appreciate it very much.” Everyone clapped as Irene stepped down and led the guests like ducklings into the kitchen.   
Irene did a fine job of presenting all of the Tupperware. She explained each piece use and why it would be a good fit for any home. After the presentation wrapped up, she invited   
the guests to try their hand at a few party games for a chance to win a small prize. 

One was bouncing coins into a small cup. Luckily, you had plenty of practice with that. Never before had you been so glad you had spent hours in cheap bars practicing that skill.   
The other women congratulated you, even going as far as to ask if you had been in the military too. The other games were played as Irene pulled you aside to let you pick your prize. 

You admired the colours of the pieces. You tried to imagine what Papas face would look like if the cabinets were full of the stuff the next time he opened them. Remembering the cash you had on you from when you first made the journey, you smiled. 

“Irene,” you said, digging through your purse to snag a bill, “I would like twenty dollars’ worth of you finest, state of the art, plastic storage and cups if you please.”

“Oh, Rose, you don’t have to!”

“I insist! You are a great saleswoman.”

Irene blushed at your words and picked out a selection for you. 

“Why don’t you stay a bit after everyone, that way you can pick the sewing equipment you would like.” 

“I would be delighted to,” you replied, smiling. Irene set aside your purchase before excusing herself.

 

You helped clean up after the party, though, the small crowd had done well to pick up after themselves for the most part. Irene insisted on washing the Tupperware again herself and sending you home with some of the leftover food. You hardly argued. 

She had greatly under emphasized the amount of sewing supplies. It took you two trips together to get what you had picked out (or had been coerced into taking) home. Once   
everything was in the large room upstairs, the two of you stopped and sat on the floor surrounded by the items. 

“Thank you.” Irene said suddenly.

“For?” you questioned.

“Coming. I really appreciate it.” Her eyes looked at the bare walls. 

“Thank you for inviting me, it was lots of fun. Not what I expected.”

Irene cocked her head at your response. 

“I knew you were close, I just didn’t realize you all went to school together. The military thing was kind of a surprise too. It was very nice of you to include me. I appreciate it a lot.   
Moving and…everything…has had its difficulties. Still trying to figure out if and how I fit in to all of this.”

Irene nodded. You both sighed. 

 

The hustle and bustle of the party began to leave you a bit after Irene had returned home. You wanted to relax, but, the tub, though now a bit more familiar, wouldn’t do the trick.   
You made up a plate of the leftover party snacks, got a glass of water, and set up a tiny tray for yourself.

The sears bag crinkled as you pulled it from the floor of your closet. You had washed everything, even the pieces you hadn’t worn, but, the bag seemed less permanent of a place to keep them. The soft fabric of the swimsuit felt strange in your hand. It felt stranger on, but, was welcomed compared to the confines of the dress you had been in all day. The floor felt nice with your feet free from nylons. You snagged the puffiest towel you could find, wrapped it round yourself, and made your way downstairs. 

You positioned your tray at the side of the pool, dipping your feet in as you sat at the edge. The water was nice, a little cool but far from cold. Perfect with the temperature of the room. The small swishes of your feet made the surface of the water ripple. You watched the rings as they moved across the surface. You let your calves dip in, then you pulled out completely. 

On the stairs, you let yourself feel the water crawl up your skin with each step. The hairs on your back stood up at the sensation. The salty water made you feel lighter. Closing your eyes, you thought of the ocean, a sandy beach, a small villa. 

Letting the water cradle you, you lie on your back. Floating was easy. Natural. Stars shone in through the glass above you, the vines hadn’t crept that high on the structure. You saw the moon, a sliver of silver in the night sky. The moon saw you, encased in water that rippled at your ever move, relaxing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all have been well, life has been kinda hectic, love you.


	14. Coffee and Frying Eggs

The morning was cool, you woke earlier than usual. It was your turn in the larger bed. The mattress was soft, inviting you to embrace sleep again, but, you decided on coffee instead. Sitting slowly, you wiped the sleep from your eyes. You grumbled at the clock as you saw its face. It was early. 

The cool tile of the floor met your feet as you walked into the master bathroom. You washed your face and combed your hair, leaving the tooth brushing until after you had something in you. 

Though you had the nightgowns, you still snagged the large pajamas every once in a while. They fit loosely, like a blanket draped over you more than clothes.

Condensation sat on the kitchen window. You rinsed the coffee pot. You went to the cupboard for the coffee. After snagging it, you noticed cans you hadn’t spotted before.   
Curiosity getting the better of you, you looked at the rectangular cans that lay at the back of the storage space. Spam. Did you buy spam? 

Too tired to keep thinking about it, you continued the prep of the coffee. 

Grounds filling your nose with a pleasant scent as you scooped them into the filter compartment, you sighed. Once the water was added and the stove was turned on, you leaned against the sink and looked out to the front lawn. 

Your plastic pink flamingo was perched on the lawn. You grinned at the ornament. A strange sadness crept on you as you looked at it. It was all alone in the sea of kept green grass. A drop of water ran down the window as you gazed through it, passing over where the flamingo stood.

Things felt almost too routine now. Too settled. 

Bubbling and whistling, you pulled the coffee pot off the heat and turned off the stove with a click. 

Cup of coffee in hand, you went out the sliding back door. 

The dew sat on the grass. Your bare feet got damp. Cool but not cold. 

The fountain in the middle of the benches was still dirty, the soft sounds from a distant radio could be heard. Crickets chirped. Birds began to sing. You took a sip of the coffee, burning your tongue. You laughed and shook your head. 

Maybe settled was a good thing. 

You wandered around the back yard for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air and warmth from the coffee.

Stepping back through the sliding doors, you were met with the smell of frying eggs. The door to the kitchen was open. Bare feet quiet on the floor, you approached. The white doorframe found your shoulder as you leaned in. A rectangular tin sat on the counter, opened, as he sliced something you couldn’t see. 

“Good morning early bird.” You announced loudly to the half-awake Papa. 

Having only enough time to duck behind the other side of the doorframe in fright, a knife lodged itself in the wall you had been leaning on. After the cracking sound of metal cutting plaster came the sound of your cup shattering on the ground. 

Back to the wall, your eyes searched for a weapon, anything to defend yourself. 

“Oh fuck.” You heard from the kitchen. 

You looked to the doorway, pieces of china lay tainted with the remaining drops of coffee. You felt the carpet under your fingers. Familiar. You mind didn’t process it as coffee, you saw blood. Your eyes began to play tricks on you. Your chest rattled with ragged breaths. Hand holding the side of your head were a mark was still just barely noticeable, you   
shook. Quick footfalls caused you to scurry to the side. You remembered the feeling of the carpet at the hall. You remembered the same feeling. You were overcome with the feeling. The feeling was drowning you. The feeling was all encompassing. 

You heard a voice, deep, tinged with panic and remorse. You shook harder. A hand fell on your shoulder, you flinched so hard you nearly fell on your side. If you had had any control over your voice you would have screamed. You didn’t. You couldn’t. 

The voice came again, blurred by the resounding ringing in your ears. You could hear it but you couldn’t tell what words it spoke, if any. You heard the gunshots again. You saw yourself back in the hall. 

You crawled along the thin carpet of the hall, head aching, grabbing shotgun that lay propped against a table. 

The vision stopped. You sat on the floor, clutching the base of the floor lamp strangely. 

Scanning the room, you saw Papa crouched where you had been at the doorway. Tears burned at your eyes. You clutched harder to the lamps stand. 

He made no move towards you. 

“Can you hear me?” He said, eyes not meeting yours. Peripherals watching. 

You nodded furiously, throat closed tight. 

“Do you know where you are?” his voice was low, calm.

You let your eyes wander. The couch, the plain walls, the open kitchen door. Your thumb rolled your rings around your finger.

You nodded slowly. 

Papa moved slightly, you flinched, he paused. Papa took a breath, half standing. 

“May I move closer?” 

Your eyes looked into his. You saw Copia’s eyes. Rugburn stung your hands. Your shaking picked up. Fear tightened its grip. Papa’s face changed slightly. Your eyes were glued to his. His face distorted in your vision. Your pressed your eyes closed. The lamp fell beside you as you dug your palms into the sides of your head. It felt like the world was closing in around you. 

“Do you know where you are?” you heard Papa say again. He felt far away this time. 

“We’re at the meeting, Copia is talking and…and…” you choked out, hands pressing harder to your skull. 

“No, we are safe, we are in a safe house, you are sitting on the floor in the house. Its early morning, what do you smell.” 

“I smell overcooked prime rib, I smell-“

Papa cut you off. “It’s early morning, I’m frying eggs, there is a pot of coffee on the stove, can you smell them?”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, the smell of the dinner began to fade, you smelled the eggs. The smell of coffee came with it. The remaining taste of it lingered on your tongue as you exhaled through your mouth. Your feet were still damp from the gardens dew. 

“Do you know where you are?” Papa asked again. 

“I’m at the house. The garden is outside.”

“What do you see now?” Papa’s voice was still as a stone.

You let your eyes flutter open, hands releasing a bit from your head. Tears stung them, you felt one warm drop fall to your leg. You hadn’t noticed you were fully in tears. 

“I see…a lamp on its side, the pajamas I’m wearing, the broken cup…”

“Good. Do you need anything?” Papa asked, seeming to release some tension himself. 

“No. I’m fine.” You said, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m fine.” 

Your legs hardly supported you, but, you stood. Shakily, you made your way to the broken cup. You began picking up the pieces. Another set of hands helped. You didn’t look at his face. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Papa said.

“I can do it.” You replied, voice uneven. The shards felt sharp in your hand.

“You’re shaking.” Papa “Here,” he said, motioning for you to hand over the pieces you had gathered.

“I’m fine!” you lied, “let me do this!” Your fist closed around the shards, cutting into the flesh. Your face pulled in a grimace. 

Papa’s eyes dropped to your hand, watching blood drip from your grip. He just grabbed the rest of the shards from the floor and put them into a bowl. You stood up, embarrassment pressed deep down, and moved to where he was. You met his eyes, horrified of what you might see, but stayed as steady as you could. You dropped the bloodied pieces of china into the bowl. 

“Your eggs are burning.” You said angrily, leaving the room. 

 

Blood swirled around the drain under your watchful eye. Crimson waves disrupted by clarity. Shampoo moved from your scalp down your face, you rinsed it out. It stung the fresh wounds. The shower didn’t wash away the emotions that clung to your skin like oil. The day was just beginning but you felt exhausted. 

In an odd way, you enjoyed doing the chores. They were something to do. They passed quickly, hyper focus not leading you to take your time with anything even with the strange sleepiness that weighed on you. You remembered the sewing equipment. 

Setting up the sewing room promised to be a challenge, and a challenge you desperately wanted. Controlling how the room was set up gave you some peace. Sunshine warmed the room. You opened the windows to let the breeze roll in. You shuffled things around. Having a hand wrapped in bandages made it slightly harder to maneuver things, but, you got it done. You were lucky no pieces stayed lodged in. 

With half of the things unpacked, you stumbled upon a nearly finished dress. It looked Irene’s size but unlike anything you had seen her wear before. You set it to the side. Realization of how many boxes there were slowly sunk in. This would take a few days at the least.

One small box held patterns upon patterns for just about every kind of garment you could think of, surprisingly, many were in Papa’s size. Nearly all were uncut. In addition to the men’s patterns, the uncut women’s patterns were in your range, the ones that had been cut were too small so you separated them as you flicked through styles. 

Eventually, you had a few stacks of sorted patterns. You thanked whatever powers that were when you found sewing books. They ranged from beginners’ guides to more advanced guides. 

The sewing machine sat on the floor. You skimmed the manual before plugging it in and hoping for the best. No smoke. No shocks. Good enough, you decided. You plugged in the peddle and grabbed two scraps from the box you found the nearly finished dress in. The bobbin and the thread were different colours, but, they sewed the scraps together just fine. Feeling accomplished, you took a short break to get a drink, unplugging the sewing machine first just in case. 

The kitchen was empty, the knife had been pulled from the wall, a small hole remained. You filled a Tupperware cup with water and investigated the hole. It wasn’t very deep. You took a drink. 

Papa was back in from the garden when you returned to the kitchen from the sewing room again. He tensed in his seat at the table. He cocked an eyebrow when he saw the flat pattern package in one of your hands and the tube of toothpaste in the other. 

You filled the hole in the wall with the toothpaste before leveling it and removing the excess with the edge of the pattern package. The colours matched almost too perfectly. You smiled. 

“You alright?” Papa’s voice broke the silence. 

“I told you.” You spoke. “I’m fine.” 

“I just saw you put toothpaste on a wall than move a piece of paper over it.” 

“It’s a sewing pattern.”

“Ah, a sewing pattern…pardon?” Papa questioned. 

“Come over here.” You said, waving the pattern as you admired your handywork. 

His chair scooted out with a thrumming noise as he stood up. You could smell the earth on him when he stood a little distance beside you. 

Noticing his hesitation, you took a step to the side away from him, giving him more space to see the patch job. You nodded your head to beckon him closer. 

If he was unsure, he hardly showed it as he stepped over. Now with both the pattern and toothpaste in one hand, you let your hands find a place behind your back. He cocked his head as he leaned close to it. Papa’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. 

“Minty” he commented straight faced. 

You grinned at him. A grin pulled at his lips for a moment. He kept his eyes on the wall. 

“I’m sorry, about earlier.” He said, tone serious. 

“Yeah,” you groaned, bandaged hand pressing your head. “I am too. I’m not sure what that was.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Papa’s voice was cool, soothing, yet for some reason you grew angry. 

“It hasn’t happened to me before, not like that.” 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to have your permission to not talk about something Boss.” You sneered. You stopped yourself, taking a breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s like I was-” wooziness hit you. “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it. Thank you by the way.” 

“For?” Papa inquired, turning to face you. 

“Helping me out of it.”

“Ah. Well, I know how tough it can be,” his voice was distant “a friend of mine” he abridged. 

“I’m sorry to hear.” 

“It’s alright, they’re fine now.” Something about him seemed to change. 

Neither of you spoke much at dinner, nor at the meals the following few days. The silence wasn’t necessarily and awkward one, just a lack of pushing. 

The small bit of comfort began to return, but, this time, with something new.


	15. Laundry

“Have you and Walter ever been camping?” Norma asked over her plate of half eaten raspberry pie. You looked down into your chocolate malt. 

“Um…” you trailed, the music in the soda shoppe was white noise at this point. “We went to a cabin once, it was alright.” 

“Oh, I’m talking about tent camping, different ballpark in a lot of ways. Bea and I go with our beaus as a couples trip most Junes, if you’re interested, you are more than welcome to join. Irene stays and watches the kids, what a doll, she never was one for camping. We have extra gear, no need to buy anything.” Norma finished her words just in time to catch her own straw between her lips as she took a sip from the cream soda. 

You stirred your peppermint striped straw in your own glass idly. 

“Everything okay?” Norma asked.

“Yeah…” you lied.

“Are you sure?” Norma’s tone was hushed now. 

“No.” you confessed.

“Does it have anything to do with your hand?”

“Kind of.” 

Norma waited for you to elaborate. You sighed. 

“Something happened and I’m still a little shaken. I don’t want to bother p-” you paused at the near slip. Normas eyes narrowed. “People. Especially Walter.” 

Your own words confused you. Why would you care if it bothered him? Just the fact that you had to live with him, you decided, shaking the thought from your head. 

Norma took your hand into her own. “It’s okay, tell me whatever you are comfortable with.”

“There was a…thing…that neither of us were anticipating, a reaction, and I don’t know exactly what happened.” The hand that Norma didn’t hold met your head, elbow resting on the shining white tabletop that separated you. 

Norma nodded, curiosity and concern equally present on her face. 

“I was just, all of a sudden, back where…I was back in a bad place.”

Norma’s face shifted slightly. 

“Did you feel like you were right back in the bad place, the feelings, sights, whole nine?” Norma inquired, squeezing your hand slightly. 

“Yes, it was like I was transported right back to the moment…” you squeezed her hand back, voice trembling slightly. You took another sip of your malt. 

“Sounds like shell shock honey.” Norma said, tone soft. 

“But I was never-”

“I know, you weren’t overseas, but, it can happen. There is a lot about it we still don’t know. I’m no doctor, but, there are a few girls who I have known for years who have had similar instances.” Norma met your eyes. “If you need anything, I am just a call away, same with Bea and Irene. Got it?”

“Got it.” You confirmed. Her very presence was soothing. Her hands were soft, but soft in the way skin gets when it’s worked too often and in such a way it doesn’t callous. Her nails were short but painted a soft pink. You think it may be the first time you noticed the birthmark on her arm. 

The soft sunlight coming through the windows hit her eyes. Compassion washed her face. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Want some of my malt?” You offered. Norma accepted with a smile. 

 

After she dropped you at home, you got to work on laundry. It was best to get it done sooner than later due to having to freshen the sheets as the bed swap was happening soon. 

Half way through stripping the bed, your hand brushed up against something under the mattress papa had been using. Curiosity getting the better or you, you dropped to your knees and pried the offending material from between the mattress and the box spring. 

You practically snorted as you inspected the cover. Apparently, he had taken your advice to get a subscription. Flipping through the magazine, you bit your lip. It had been awhile since you had seen women dressed like that. Rather, women undressed like that. The drought you were in suddenly became more apparent. 

Unfolding the centerfold make you blink fast. She was gorgeous. She wore shoes and a smile. Between her teeth was one side of a yellow towel, it hung down, hardly covering her. 

Footsteps on the stairs caused you to jump, hurriedly, you folded the centerfold back up and threw it back where you had found it. 

Papa stopped at the doorway, you could tell by the burning in your cheeks a blush had spread. You continued stripping the bed, trying to act as normal as possible. He looked at you a moment before he turned around and went back downstairs. 

Gathering the rest of the laundry didn’t take long. Once you had everything downstairs you sorted through. You noticed Papa wasn’t around, more than likely getting groceries. As rain started to thrum against the kitchen window, you wondered how the driving would be, not to mention loading the car. 

You stopped yourself for the second time that day. Why would you care. 

Getting the laundry done went faster than you anticipated. You had a bit of free time between when the washer and dryer finished, the washer being the slower of the two, so you put the extra time into pressing the dry clothes. 

Being as you were home alone, you figured you might as well wash the dress you had on, most times Papa got groceries he was gone for longer than you thought was needed, but, it gave you the house to yourself. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. You, a feared and respected crime boss, standing in the kitchen in a mismatched bra, panty, and garter set, full face of makeup, pressing the shirt of your rival. If the rest of the competition could see you. 

Your mind paused. 

You weren’t sure how much of the competition was left. You weren’t sure what would happen next. You weren’t sure of much. 

The smell of burning filled your nose as you looked down at the iron board. Snatching the iron off the starched white shirt, you saw a sizable brown patch in the irons image. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit,” you mumbled. 

You moved in a flash to unplug the iron and set it on its rest as not to burn anything else. As if a lightbulb appeared above your head, an idea came to you. Norma! Norma said if you needed anything call! That seemed to be more about big issues, you stopped yourself short of grabbing the pale green phone from the wall. 

A breath, in and out, you thought again. You could always hide it. You looked out the kitchen window, rain still fell. You grabbed a coat from the front closet and threw it on. 

The wet grass was cold on your nyloned feet. The wooden handle of the shovel was firmly grasped in your hands. Making a shallow grave for the shirt in your garden gave you an odd thrill, a sense of nostalgia even. You shook your head at your own situation, patting the dirt back into place, concealing the burnt fabric. 

Returning to the living room, you sat on the couch, the fabric rough on your thighs. You removed the soiled nylons. Back in the kitchen you set them to soak in the sink. 

A noise came from the office. You grabbed a knife from the drawer. 

Coat still on, hair a mess from the rain, you snuck closer to where you thought the sound originated. 

A soft rumbling sound grew louder as you approached. The rain and distance had masked it before, but, now that you had heard it, it seemed too loud to ignore. You changed the way the knife was positioned in your hand, ready to strike. 

Peeking into the office, you saw Papa, hunched, face down on the desk, snoring. Your eyes surveyed the scene, settling on a large Tupperware cup on the floor, obviously the source of the noise. A pool of cold coffee surrounded it, the scent wafting your way, the window next to papa sat open a sliver. Wooden handle turning over in your hand, you adjusted the knife again. If you were going to kill him, it would be the perfect opportunity. You would just need to get a little closer. 

You crept into the room, not wanting to startle the man, especially considering what happened the last time you caught him off guard. 

Papa looked almost serene, the look on his face relaxed. You hadn’t noticed until now how exhausted he looked, the way the bags sat under his eyes, the wrinkles exacerbated by the now obvious fatigue. Foot catching on the cup, causing it to roll, you saw him stir slightly, scowling. The arm his head lie on curling. Carefully, you returned to the kitchen, grabbing an already dirty towel to clean the mess. 

Once the puddle was cleaned and the cup set to be washed, you retuned to the room, closing the window slowly as to not cause too much noise. When you turned back to look at Papa, you noticed a twitch in his mouth and a scowl spreading, arm curling around his head in a protective motion. It took a couple seconds before the relaxed look returned to his face. You saw him begin to shiver. 

He looked vulnerable, it was true, but, instead of wanting to seize the opportunity, something else pulled within you. Part of you knew what good business would be, and yet, he had shown you compassion. You didn’t feel particularly hostile towards him. His death may just complicate things. He had taken care of you. You sighed, returning the knife to its place in the kitchen drawer. 

The dryer finished its cycle, you pulled the armfuls of bedding out, moving them to the living room to fold. They smelled fresh, warm, inviting.   
When going to fold a duvet, something stopped you. You inspected the item in your hands, so plush and warm. You remembered Papa’s shiver. Before you knew it, you were draping the blanket over his shoulders, adjusting it as not to slide off if he shifted. 

His shivering stopped, his breathing settled, the remainder of a scowl on his face melted away. A movement from under his hand caught your eye. There was a document you didn’t recognize, the paper not bleach white like the others, just covered enough that you couldn’t tell what exactly was on it. Papa stirred again as you tried to pull at it. You decided not to risk it. 

You were nearly done the folding when you realized you still had the coat on. You put it back in the closet before you put the clothes away and made the beds. You debated looking at the stashed playboy for a second before deciding against it. 

A quick dip sounded nice, so, you peeled of the undergarments, draping them on the chair of the vanity, and threw on the suit. The reflection you saw seemed like someone else, yet, held hints of yourself. Over the time you had been here, you had fallen a bit out of shape. A rushed wash of your face and you were almost set. You grabbed a still warm towel from the closet before returning downstairs. 

It was easy to relax in the pools embrace. The soft patter of rain on the glass above you, the dim light of evening dimmed further by the clouds, everything seemed alright. The water wasn’t as cold as it had been last time, taking near no adjusting this time around. You had killed men before, why did you hesitate? 

It was just the reasonable thing to do, you assured yourself. 

In order to completely flush the thought from your mind, you began swimming laps. It became apparent how missing your usual routine along side the more indulgent foods you had partaken in as well as the missed meals had set you back. You felt the resistance of the water more with every stroke. Before long, you were winded. You went back to floating idly, lungs worse for wear. 

A knock came at the sliding door that lead to the house. A pause. The door slid open. 

“Dinner won’t…” Papa started, you began to tread water to watch him. He stood at the entry way, wrapped in the duvet. A hand drifted to his mouth to cover a yawn, “um...dinner…it’s…dinner soon…” he trailed. You greeted his words with a soft smile. His eyes went from you to just about every other inch of the space. His mouth opened as if to say something else, but, the door slid back in place instead. 

You ate dinner in your swimsuit, towel wrapped around you. Papa sat at the table with you. Conversation was so dry it hardly existed. He really did look exhausted. It was like seeing someone different. 

“We were invited camping.” You remembered.

“Camping?”

“With Norma, Beatrice, and their husbands.”

“Why would they do that?” Papa asked, lifting a forkful to his mouth.

“Norma and Beatrice are…” you though how ridiculous Papa would think you for calling them friends. “they are friendly, they seem to like my company.”

“When?”

“June.”

“We may leave before then.” His voice was dull. He hardly looked your way.

“Yeah…you’re right…”

Dinner continued and came to an end without more of a discussion. 

You reminded yourself Papa was just a housemate, not some kind of friend.


	16. The market

“Beatrice you really didn’t ha-” you started as Beatrice dropped off an army green bag.

“Oh pish tosh, this way you’ll have time to try it out, get a feel for setting it up.”

“But Beatrice we don’t-“

“It’ll help you decide! I have to get back to the house, I’m trying a new recipe, oven is on and all that, have fun!” She hurried back across the street with a little extra pep in her step. It had hardly been a week since Norma mentioned camping but it seemed everyone else had made up their minds on if you and Papa would be joining them. You shook your head as you grabbed the bag off the doorstep. 

“What got dropped off this time?” Papa asked, popping his head out the kitchen door. He had been preparing lunch. The scent of fresh bread filled the air. Papa insisted on making his own, even if it was just for sandwiches. Not that you were complaining. 

“Tent. She says it’ll help us get some practice and decide what to do.” You took a moment to savor the smell. Papa looked a little disappointed. “What? You waiting on a delivery?”

Papa returned to his work. Even the way he walked started to show his exhaustion. The door swung closed behind him. 

You lifted the tent with surprising ease and put it in the living room, beside the couch. 

Returning to the sewing room, you looked around. The mid-day light shone through the window, the clear skies leaving no corner unlit. You had just about everything where it needed to be, some boxes however, remained unopened. 

If you were going to be forced into camping, you would be damned if you were going in a dress. Most the patterns were from around a decade ago, but, you figured with a few minor adjustments, you could make them work. 

You pulled an uncut pattern that looked promising, then, you trudged through fabrics to find one that seemed suitable. You pulled two fabrics, one for the mock up, and one for the actual garment. Your first try at a pattern (where you couldn’t get it on due to forgetting the seam allowance) had taught you a mock up was a better call. 

The mock up fabric was medium weight, not a bad fabric, but there was an absurd amount of it. You got to work first by cutting the pattern out in the size that best fit your measurements. It wasn’t long before you had the pieces of the fabric cut out along with them. 

You took a break for lunch. The fresh bread of the sandwich, still warm, practically melted in your mouth. The crunch of the lettuce offset it. The luncheon meat was salty and cool. You watched as Papa added pepper onto the meat in his sandwich. 

“If we go camping, do you have anything to wear?” you asked.

“I should be fine.” He replied, caught a bit off guard. “There is a market tomorrow, I plan on going.” A pause. “You should come with, it would be out of the norm for a married man to go without his…blending in is important.” You shrugged and finished your sandwich, wiping your hands together before putting the plate in the sink. 

“What time do we leave?”

It took a fair amount of effort to get the mock up shorts to your liking, but in the end, you decided they would do just as well as anything else. 

 

The market was large, scents of cooking foods mixed with the perfumes and colognes the shoppers wore. There were vendors of just about every type, it was like a shopping center outdoors. It was both completely alien and a taste of home, the most glaring difference being that no one here knew who you were. 

Most times you had been in markets even remotely close to this one, the visit had reasons above shopping. It was nice to be at a market as nothing more than a customer. 

The two of you browsed the fresh produce first, then the butchers stall, and next a cheese booth. You watched Papa’s eyes drift over the cheeses as if they were gold. It had been awhile since you had seen a selection like this, the grocers range seeming measly in comparison. You learned through conversation that the man working the stall owned a farm nearby, as did the owners of the two previous stalls. One of the farmers called an invitation for the fall for a free pumpkin if you came out to the patch. You called a thanks back, they passed an apricot to the butcher, who handed it to you. It was fresh, semi tart, you had to move a hand under your chin to catch some falling juice. A strange look sat on Papa’s face when you looked back to him. He made his selection of cheeses, paid, and the two of you began meandering again. 

Behind the market sat a charity shop. A record player, practically new, sat in the window. You bolted for the store. 

The bell chimed when you swung the door open. Eyes were on you. You remembered you had to behave, so, you straightened yourself out slightly, and nodded at the man behind the counter. Shopping bag on one arm, purse on the other, you moved carefully in the store. No other customers were there but the items were set in such a way that they made the place feel crowded. It didn’t have much floor space to begin with. 

The store smelled of mothballs. 

Even with its crowded feeling, it was organized, signs taped to the walls pointed to each category of used item. You didn’t bother looking at anything else before you went to the window display. The phonograph was fairly worn, looking less and less tempting the longer you looked at it. 

“A nice piece.” The man greeted as he came over from the counter, holding a cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. 

“It is.” You replied, noticing more scratches along its back. You looked to the man beside you. His light brown hair was slicked back, brown vertical striped suspenders lead to his  
deep brown slacks. He wore a casual button up, rolled to his elbows smartly. He seemed around your age.

“It works just fine, we have a nice selection of records if you want to give them a gander. A big group of them came in around two months ago, a couple players too.” He leaned in slightly “some of the other players are in better condition than that one.” 

“Thank you.” You replied, something about him gave you the creeps. He took a long drag from his cigarette, not moving from where he stood. You looked over your shoulder at the signs, making the snap decision to follow the one that pointed to women’s clothing. 

There was a fair amount of selection, some pieces looking no older than a couple years behind. A pair of peddle pushers caught your eye, still cuffed at the bottom. You set them over your arm in case you found a change room. You drew out a few other pieces before putting them back. Some patterns too loud, other sizes looking completely wrong for you.  
You huffed as you continued, eventually finding a pair of mid length shorts that would work well enough, doubting the ones you had sewn. Next you pulled a belt that would go well enough with the peddle pushers and a short sleeve shirt in a tropical print. It was hideous in the most adorable way. You smiled at it. You heard the bell of the store jingle, you kept looking. 

You found yourself in front of a group of records in boxes. You adjusted the bag in the crook of your elbow as you began to flit through the records. Footsteps came over again. 

The same smell of cigarette smoke. 

“Finding everything alright?” he asked, almost too friendly. 

“Yes, thank you,” you returned coolly. 

“Shouldn’t a lady like you be buying new? No offence to my regular clientele but, you’re a lot better looking.” He took another drag. 

You stayed silent, resisting the urge to make a scene. 

“Aw come on sweetheart, I’m just trying to be nice, there isn’t anything wrong with that, is there?”

“Kindness is fine” you replied through a gritted smile.

“You from around here? Never seen you at the market or anything before,” he was either oblivious of your discomfort or didn’t care.

“New.”

“You give such short replies to every man that’s trying to get to know you?” he seemed offended. 

“Only the ones I don’t care to get to know.” You said, his moves closer adding to the unease you felt. 

“Aw baby, you don’t have to be so mean.” He grinned, pearly white teeth showing, “I’m an educated man, I know when a lady is playing hard to get.” 

Your want to blend in faded as anger began to burn brighter. “I’m married.” You tried through a smile, giving him one more chance to relent. 

“I bet you I’m better than he is,” his eyes wandered over you “you step into the back room with me and I can show you.” 

That was it. The next step towards you he took, you pulled your arm and backhanded him hard enough to make him stumble and lean on a nearby stack of books, grip turning his knuckles white. He looked up at you in confusion, then rage. He stood up, fuming, beginning to take large steps towards you, you readied to strike again. 

“Ah, there you are.” Came a familiar voice. The shopkeeper paused. Indents from your ring obvious on his face. 

“Hello.” You smiled. You were still angry, but, you tried to act calm.

Papa’s eyes scanned the other man, a friendly grin a mask for whatever was actually on his mind.

“Walter Roberts, good to meet you.” Papa introduced, adjusting the bags of groceries he had to extend his hand. 

“Oliver Brand” the now confused looking shop keep said, switching which hand his cigarette was in to shake Papa’s hand. The two hands met, Papa’s grip obviously firmer. Oliver tried a smile as his eyes met Papa’s. The grin on Papa’s face held, eerily, as he kept his grip on the man’s hand. 

“Pardon my eavesdropping, but, what exactly were you going to show her in the back room?”

“Who?” Oliver’s eyes darted, looking back to you. “Oh, that broad?” His tone made you think he thought Papa was going to take his side.

“Yes, her,” Papa hissed, **“my wife.”**

The colour in Oliver’s face drained. Shock plastered him. Papa was around the same height but the aura he emanated made it feel like he towered over the other man.

“I…well uh...I was…” He stammered, you held back a laugh. It was hard not to enjoy the terror on Oliver’s face. 

“Go on.” Papa said, hand still coiling around his adversaries in the handshake. “What was it?”

Olivers eyes snapped back and forth, looking for any excuse. His eyes looked to the window, something sparked. 

“A phonograph!” Oliver yelled, “Still in the box! Radio combo! I was told to leave it in the back so no one would try to steal it! I can give you a real mean deal on it, more than half off its original price!”

“Well,” Papa said all too kindly, releasing Oliver’s hand. “Why don’t you bring it out?” 

Oliver nodded furiously then dashed off like a scolded child, shaking the pain from his hand, careful not to run into any of the merchandise. You looked at the now scowling Papa.  
He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“So, how were the other stalls.” You asked. 

“Fine.” He replied. 

Silence. 

“Um…they have a good selection of records here…” you trailed. Papa moved beside you. He set the groceries down and rolled his shoulders. He began flipping through the box next to yours, pulling a few out and setting them down. You went back to looking at the records in front of you. 

“Next time, give me a heads up.” Papa spoke. You thought about arguing, but bit your tongue. “Please.” He continued. 

Your fingers stopped the movement between the 45s. You didn’t hear any malice or sarcasm in his tone. It was…odd. You nodded. 

“I have the phonograph out, if you want to come look at it, no rush though, plenty of time…” Oliver bumbled from the counter. Both you and Papa grabbed the bags you had been carrying and approached the counter. 

On it sat a nearly perfect phonograph. Only a few years old. 

“I don’t know much about record players or anything, but, um, this uh…” he eyed both you and Papa nervously. “If they wanted me to put it in the back it must have um...been…it must be pretty good.” 

Oliver was right about it being good. If it worked, that would mean a built in am radio with a phonograph that played every size record to exist, not to mention the record changing feature. The words “Cobra Matic” shone in gold. By your guess, it was the L566. You didn’t know why such an expensive piece would be here. 

“We won’t be able to carry it.” You said, realizing that both of you had other things to carry. “I’ll bring the car around.” 

“Wait!” Oliver cried. Both you and Papa looked at him oddly. “I can…let me carry it.” 

You smiled. “Nonsense! Walter, keep our new friend company while I get the car?” 

“Of course,” Papa smiled back. You could see Oliver shudder. 

The bell jingled as you left the store. 

When you returned, the phonograph wasn’t the only thing on the counter. A small portable record player joined it, along with the two boxes of records you had been sorting through, the clothes you had selected, and a typewriter. It didn’t take long to get everything loaded, Oliver eager to help get you away from the store. 

“Not bad for what we paid.” Papa said as you pulled away. 

“We might as well have gotten it off the back of a truck.” You laughed. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah,” he said, “just like home.” A distant look went into his eyes, “just like home.”

Your own smile faded looking at him. It didn’t really hit you how he may be missing home too until now. He was just as stuck as you were.

 

The records you picked up found a home in the office bookshelves. The typewriter was placed on a middle shelf to keep the desk clear. Both the portable record player and the phonograph sat in the living room. Curious about if it worked, you quickly peered through the records before snagging a couple. 

You thanked the stars that the small instruction manual was still with the phonograph. You put off testing it until you had read at least some of the instructions. The portable player on the other hand, you were fully confident, having had operated them on more than one occasion. You plugged it into a wall outlet. 

Popping the record on, you adjusted the speed, and dropped the needle. The balance only needed a little adjusting, music filled the air. You really did miss home. 

You turned up the volume and went to the kitchen where Papa was unpacking the last of the groceries. You tied the apron on and snagged the mustard greens from the fridge, as well as the butchers paper the porkchops were in, and carrots. 

Papa watched you sway from one spot to the next to the music, prep time cut down substantially from what it usually was given the music’s boost. You hadn’t realized you had practically been dancing until you saw the look on his face. You stopped in your tracks. 

“So…uh…some of those records are pretty new.” You offered, moving now to put the chopped carrots to boil. 

“Yeah.” Papa confirmed, turning away to re-arrange the fridge. “Shop keep said they came in with the cobra.” 

“That’s handy. You know how to work that thing?” you questioned, working on the mustard greens. 

“Sure.” 

 

Fresh air and music filled the hallway as you moved downstairs the next morning. The back door was wide open. Papa knelt at his tomato plants, tentatively tending to them. You went to the kitchen, surprised to see a pot of coffee already bubbling away on the stove. 

You turned down the heat slightly and poured a cup for yourself, sitting at the small table. The nightgown you wore needed some adjusting once you sat, but, that aside, all felt well. 

Papa came in, dirty dress shirt over one shoulder. You looked at him over the rim of your cup. He got a cup from the cupboard and poured some for himself before leaving again.  
After finishing your coffee, you washed the cup and put it back in its place, heading back upstairs to shower and get dressed. 

Pants, oh how good they felt. Ill fitting, already worn in, belt tightened just right, you adjusted them as you gazed in the mirror. No garter belt, no hosiery, what a life. You adjusted the loose obnoxiously patterned shirt in the vanity mirror, proud of how wildly out of style the whole look was. For the hell of it, you threw on the bold red lipstick. 

You looked horrendous in the best way! You threw yourself a wink before heading to prep food for lunch and dinner, you would get tend to the garden. 

Part way into prep, the phone rang. Music playing in the background and hands covered in food, you took a deep breath before lifting the phone from the receiver. 

“Hello.” You said, wiping your hands on the apron. 

“Howdy Mrs. Roberts.” You heard Arnie say.

“Arnie!” You exclaimed. 

“The one and only, you got a minute?” 

You looked at the half-prepped food, “yeah, what’s buzzin’ cuzzin’?” 

“Someone is chipper” he laughed, “I’ve got a job for you. Next Wednesday work?”

“Should be fine.” You replied. 

“Now, it’s gonna be a couple days, maybe a week, so you’ll have to pack a few things. Just dresses, nothing fancy, nothing drab either, sound good?”

“You about tell me where I’m headed or do I have to wait?” you teased.

“Your driver will tell you when they get there, be up early, like 4am early.”

You grumbled. “Fine, fine, hot or cold weather?” 

“Warm, but bring a coat.” Arnie obviously not envying you at all.

“Thanks, how have you been?” you leaned on the wall as the conversation continued. 

“Busy as a bee and with half the honey,” he laughed again “can’t really complain, now that the dust is settling a bit, opportunities are presenting themselves. I’ve got to go, good luck boss.” 

“Thanks, same to you.” You got in before the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression aint nice but I'm still kickin!

**Author's Note:**

> : )


End file.
